


Than A Man Swear He Loves Me

by sunsetmog



Series: I Had Rather [3]
Category: BBC Radio 1 RPF, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Barebacking, Boys In Love, Canon Compliant, Coming Out, Happy Ending, Homophobic Language, Internalized Homophobia, Kink Discovery, Kink Negotiation, Long-Distance Relationship, Love/Hate, M/M, Panic Attacks, Recreational Drug Use, Rough Sex, Secret Relationship, Size Difference, Some D/s elements, Under-negotiated Kink, Watersports, Wetting, boys being dicks because they're hurt, boys being dicks to each other, boys making poor language choices, boys making poor life choices, maple leaf tattoos, poor decision making, secret feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-05
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2018-05-24 21:52:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 104,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6168004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunsetmog/pseuds/sunsetmog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Louis had kissed Nick Grimshaw, Louis had been dressed as God, he'd never wanted anything so much in his life, and he'd never hated himself more for giving into it. </p><p>That part at least hadn't changed.</p><p> </p><p>Or: Nick and Louis like each other, but sometimes that's not enough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A big thank you to **hermette** and **slowestdive** for going through this section for me. You're both excellent humans.  <3 And I couldn't have got this far without **gentleantics** and **accidentalambivalence** who are the kinds of people you should be grateful you have in your life.  <3
> 
> WHAT ELSE. This crosses over with the last third or so of I Had Rather, but from Louis's POV. For the record, if you ever want to write a fic that's canon compliant, but with two canons - Nick's London life, and Louis's 1D world - and then want to add in your own canon - I Had Rather - and then write the other POV for some scenes that you've already written, my advice to you is: don't. It'll be the most ridiculous writing challenge you ever take on. 
> 
> This is a WIP. I've still got quite a lot left to write so I'm not going to be updating this really quickly. I'll do my best, though. 
> 
> For the record: thank you to everyone who's ever read and enjoyed, or left kudos, or written a comment or an ask or an email about I Had Rather. I've made some excellent friends because of this story and I hope the sequel isn't too terrible.
> 
> Title comes from _Much Ado About Nothing_ , when Beatrice says to Benedick: "I had rather hear my dog bark at a crow than a man swear he loves me."

**I had rather hear my dog bark at a crow than a man swear he loves me.**

Louis is still in bed when Nick gets home from work. He's slept, on and off, dozing a little to the sound of Nick's show on the BBC radio iPlayer app. Nick's hatred of wires extends to the bedroom and there's no radio in here. Louis likes listening to the radio in bed though; maybe he'll have to buy Nick one for when he's here so he can stop relying on his phone. 

If Louis's still allowed to be here, that is. 

"Puppy?" Nick calls from somewhere in the region of the front door. He sounds puzzled, and Louis can tell why. Puppy is adventurous and full of beans and scrabbles around after Nick like the two of them are magnets, and Nick normally can't walk through the door without Puppy trying her best to trip him up. 

"She's in here," Louis says, because Puppy is curled up next to Louis in bed, her nose on her paws, her ears twitching as Louis scratches the top of her head. "I think she missed me."

Nick leans against the door jamb. The holes in the knees of his ridiculous skinny jeans are almost bigger than the stupid jeans themselves. He's wearing a t-shirt with an unbuttoned checked shirt on top, his leather jacket, a scarf, and stupid sunglasses. 

"We both did," Nick says after a pause, and guilt gnaws at Louis's insides. "Thought I might have imagined you getting in last night. Was pretty sure you'd be gone by now."

"You didn't imagine me," Louis says. Puppy takes the opportunity to jump off the bed and nose at Nick's knees for a bit of a pet before taking off down the hall towards the living room and the kitchen. Nick takes his sunglasses off and puts them down on the drawers. "And I'm still here."

"Funny time to get back from a hotel, middle of the night." Nick stays by the door and doesn't come any closer. 

"I missed you," Louis says. "Come to bed."

"We really have to talk."

"I know." 

Nick peels off his jacket, and sits down on the end of the bed to unlace his boots and shrug off his jeans. When he's just in his socks and his pants and his t-shirt, he climbs into bed next to Louis and wraps his arms around Louis's shoulders. 

Louis hides his face in the curve of Nick's shoulder, and hangs on. 

"I'm gay," he says finally, when he knows he should be pulling away but he just can't bring himself to. 

Nick twitches. "Louis--"

"Not mostly knob-sexual," Louis says. "Gay. That's what I had to go away and figure out. Just, like, which bits were me lying to myself, and which bits weren't."

"You left for four days." Nick sounds relatively measured, which isn't how he'd sounded in any of the voicemails he'd left on Louis's phone.

"I know. I'm sorry." He sneaks his hand under Nick's shirt, to where he can run his thumb over the knobs in Nick's spine. "I'm so sorry. For everything."

"Four days," Nick says. "You fucked off in the middle of a fight and didn't come back for four days."

There isn't an answer to that. _I sent you text messages_ isn't a good enough response to disappearing for days. But then, there isn't an answer to any of this, except to say that Louis has replayed virtually nothing but Nick saying _you're either ashamed of me or you hate yourself, Louis, and both of those things make me want to fucking cry_ for four days now, and Louis doesn't know how to make it stop going round and round in his head. 

"I'm not ashamed of you," he goes for finally, and Nick goes still. 

**September 2013.**

Twitter links him to the _Heat_ magazine scans first thing on Tuesday morning, when Louis is half-asleep and half-heartedly scrolling through his phone, the kettle still boiling, his tea bag still sitting dry in his Rovers mug. The Twitter link takes him to a Tumblr post, to a page so pastel green and with a font so tiny that it makes Louis's head hurt. The headline on the magazine scan yells _GRIMMY'S NEW BOYFRIEND_ over a picture of Nick being kissed on the cheek after winning at the GQ Awards last week. 

Louis can't get the picture that big on his phone screen, but he zooms in as far as he can, until the picture keeps trying to jump back to it's proper size, refusing to give in and enlarge just because Louis keeps on trying to make it happen. Doesn't matter much, though. It doesn't stop Louis from being able to see Nick's cheek pressed to his boyfriend's as they hug -- That Arsehole Gareth in the space that Louis used to take for himself. Nick's eyes are bright in the picture. Bright, and happy. 

It's not that Louis even wants to be there next to Nick at an award ceremony with everyone watching Louis clap for him, but that doesn't stop him wanting to smack Gareth in the face just for having it so fucking easy. For being able to go where he wants to go, with whoever he wants to be with. Every time Louis sees a picture of Gareth with Nick, he wants to punch a wall.

Because nothing's ever fucking easy, and everything's fucking complicated, and everything to do with Nick fucking Grimshaw is just a huge fucking mess. 

Louis doesn't want Nick Grimshaw. He hadn't wanted him before and he doesn't want him now. 

It doesn't mean thinking about him doesn't hurt.

~*~

The first time Louis had kissed Nick Grimshaw, Louis had been dressed as God, he'd never wanted anything so much in his life, and he'd never hated himself more for giving into it.

That part at least hadn't changed.

~*~

Louis limps to the shop down the road after he's had his tea and a piece of toast. He's pulled his grey beanie down low over his hair, his tracksuit bottoms tugged on over his sleep shorts, hoodie swallowing him up. It's a school day and mid-morning, so there's not that many people around, and no one waiting for him outside his building. It's the one benefit of living where he does, of moving to his investment property overlooking Limehouse Basin where only rich, wanker city boys live and other rich wankers park their boats: they're all so protective of their cash and their Lamborghinis that it's pretty impossible to get right to his front door without being explicitly invited in.

The quiet is especially welcome this week because it's been two days since Louis played in a charity football match in Glasgow, and therefore two days since he'd taken a kicking on the pitch - literally and metaphorically, because that's how the universe wants to fucking fuck with him at the moment - and two days since he's been able to breathe without his ribs aching, or walk without his knee hurting. 

The less he thinks about the twelve million pictures of him that are out there in the papers and all over the internet that had managed to capture every single moment of him throwing up bright green vomit at the side of the pitch, the better. 

He hasn't seen Nick in person since June, and now it's September. He's toured another continent in the interim, sent Puppy a Canadian maple leaf squeaky toy, and phoned Nick late, late one night and pissed himself when Nick told him he could. He's released a film, come back home, played in a charity football match and embarrassed himself in every possible type of media, online and off, by throwing up in public. It isn't that he hasn't been doing anything over the summer. It's just that Nick's doing different things. Nick's out there winning GQ awards for how stylish he is, Nick's being recognised for being amazing, Nick's in the magazines because he's got a new boyfriend. Louis's left fucking up on the football pitch, and it feels like they're living in two completely different worlds. Their lives never did cross over. When they'd been together, the rest of the world had fucked off and left them together, their sex life their own version of the Bermuda bloody Triangle. 

Louis buys _Heat_ , a packet of Silk Cut, and a copy of _The Sun_ from the corner shop, wrapping the paper around _Heat_ so that no one will see him carrying it home. It's not the first time he's bought something because it's got Nick inside, and it's probably not going to be the last, either. 

He's tried to let him go, tried to push what they had to one side, tried to move on. It's just that bits of him -- the complicated bits -- feel like they're tangled up with Nick's, threads knotted and tangled and caught up, and by trying to pull away it just makes the knots tighter and the mess worse. It's a spider's web, and it's of his own making, and that's what makes it worse. 

He's back at home for thirty-seven minutes before he caves and texts Nick, sitting out on his stupid fucking balcony overlooking stupid fucking wanker central, cigarette in hand, his knee aching and his ribs hurting and that familiar, painful cat's cradle that's always laced around his chest getting tighter and tighter as he reads the article for the seventh fucking time. 

He texts: _Couldn't you have picked a better looking boyfriend grim_

Gareth is lanky and tall and, according to _Heat_ , very successful in the city. He might even live round here, might be one of the Isle of Dogs wankers in one of the buildings that Louis can see from his roof terrace perspective over Limehouse and over towards Canary Wharf. But Gareth is nothing like Louis, other than presumably having a similarly stupid income, and even though it might be worse if Nick was pictured with someone shorter than him and northern, it just validates everything that Louis has been telling himself all summer: that Nick was talking bollocks when he said he wanted to be with him. Nick clearly wants someone entirely different - taller, more traditionally successful, more normal. He very obviously wants someone who's nothing like Louis. 

Nick doesn't want Louis any more. He's moved on. 

Louis taps his phone against his thigh and doesn't give into it. _Think about something else_. He stubs out one cigarette and lights another; he didn't smoke the last one and he's probably not going to smoke much of this one either. He just wants something to do with his hands. There's a text on his phone from Lottie, but she's at school and it's not like she knows anything about his love life so he can't whine to her. Nobody knows. He's not entirely sure that anyone would _want_ to know he'd spent months sneaking off to have sex with Nick Grimshaw; he's fairly sure that his life would be about a hundred times better if it had never happened. 

Except sometimes he thinks about those times Nick had pinned him down and pushed him around and held him up against the wall as they'd kissed, and how for those moments and minutes and hours it had felt like Louis could breathe free. 

It's bollocks. It's all bollocks. He just hadn't wanted to put any potential girlfriend through the pressure of endless intrusion or harassment. Nick had been an itch that Louis had needed to scratch. He'd filled a gap. That's all it had been.

He needs to stop thinking about it. He just needs to figure out how. 

He stubs out his cigarette and goes to lean over the balcony. There's a guy out on the deck of his houseboat in the marina. Somewhere nearby there's a stereo playing Arctic Monkeys. He doesn't know what to do with himself. He hasn't managed to do any real writing recently; all he gets is odd lines and weird scribbles and nothing he can turn into anything real. He's bored of playing FIFA. His mum's going to be at work. Liam's on holiday in France with Sophia, Niall's gone to Australia for the tour early, and Harry's in LA. Zayn's away with Perrie, and Oli and Stan and Luke and the rest of his Donny mates are at work. Their lives don't just stop because he's back and wants to slide back into their worlds like he hasn't been away. He's trying to be busy so that he doesn't have to remember kissing Nick, so that he doesn't have to remember stubble beneath his thumbs as he cupped Nick's face. So that he doesn't have to think about Nick holding him down or Nick kissing him or Nick stroking his hair or the way Nick looked at him when he thought Louis wasn't looking. He wants to forget Nick and his stupid dog and his stupid flat and its ridiculous lack of visible wires. 

Louis isn't gay. There have always been girls. He just has this thing for cock sometimes, and it isn't like he doesn't know that, but at the moment he's letting himself pretend it begins and ends with Nick. He's not going to tell anyone about liking dick, and he's not going to give into it again. 

At some point he's going to meet the right girl and fall in love, and the babies and marriage thing is going to follow. There's going to be a long term relationship that they both want and that he can take home to his family, and that she can take home to _her_ family, and if he has his way, it's going to be after the band's died down a bit so they can have a bit of fucking peace. That's the way it's going to go, and there's no point making a huge deal about this, and no point telling anyone he can get it up for cock when that's not the way his life is going to end up going. 

There's no point telling anyone he can get it up for Nick. 

Not that there's any point, because Nick's getting it up for someone else now. Someone tall and rich with a skinny arse on a par with Nick's. Nick isn't getting it up any more for someone who vomited up green spew at the weekend in front of all the paps.

He doesn't text Nick, _does he make you come like I make you come ?_ He doesn't text, _do you look at him like you used to look at me ??_

He puts his face in his hands instead, hoodie pulled down over his wrists, his trainers kicked off and his socks pulled up over his tracksuit bottoms even though he's outside on the terrace. He and Nick were never together, but sometimes he misses him so much it hurts. 

"Get a fucking grip," he tells himself, vaguely thankful he's so high up no one can see him talking to himself. "Get a fucking grip, dickhead."

When he finishes his tea, he goes into the kitchen to make another. His phone buzzes as the kettle boils with a message from Nick that says, _what I do is none of your fucking business because you didn't want me so just stop acting like youre jealous._

Jesus. Louis makes his tea and goes back outside. London stretches out in front of him in an endless sea of river and rooftops and high-rises and slate-grey clouds. Steam twists its way up from his mug; it's still too hot for him to drink. 

He taps out, _I'm not jealous_ one-handed. His heart pounds. He hasn't heard from Nick in ages.

His phone buzzes again almost immediately. _You act like you are. If you don't want me you can't get jealous if other people do._

Other people can want Nick, he just doesn't want them to have him. He burns his tongue on his tea as he taps out another response with a shaking hand. _I never said I didn't want you_. 

It's two minutes before Nick responds, and he's sent Louis an essay: _You are so fucking fucked up. You did say that. I told you I liked you and you told me you didn't want me. Then you fucking booty call me from half way round the world and you still don't want to go out with me and then you get fucking mad because someone actually does want me. It's not fair. You can't tell me you want me now. You are so fucked up._

"It wasn't a booty call," Louis says, even though there's no one to hear him. Something painful twists in his chest, his breath catching, the cat's cradle that keeps him held together tightening without his permission. 

In the end, when he's given up trying to think of something to send back, he shoves his phone back into his pocket and leans over the edge of the balcony again, his tea in his hand. 

He thinks about that phone call a lot, the one he'd made in Kansas that time he was too drunk to stand up, Nick quiet and sober and sleepy down the end of the line, telling Louis to wet himself. Louis wasted and tearful and desperate and alone, needing Nick so much it hurt, and not knowing how to put any of it into words. 

The tiny maple leaf tattoo that he's never shown anyone, the one he'd got on a stupid, fantastical whim, the one he'd got so wrong. He doesn't even look at it anymore, just pulls up his pants every morning without looking down. A permanent reminder that he doesn't know what the fuck he's doing with his life. 

Wanting Nick doesn't mean he can have him. He can't have everything in life he wants. Life doesn't work like that. 

Louis drinks the rest of his tea whilst getting cold out on his balcony. The day's grey and damp. 

He doesn't look at his phone again. It doesn't buzz.

~*~

It's the middle of the night when he texts Nick again. He can't fucking sleep. There's a space next to him in the bed that hasn't ever been Nick's; it's stupid to miss something that was never fucking there in the first place.

He's got no fucking clue how to make any of it all right, and even less of a clue what _all right_ even means. It's just awful that somewhere out there, there's a Nick Grimshaw who's not thinking well of him, and it shouldn't matter, and Louis shouldn't care, but he can't help it. If he thinks about it for more than five seconds, it makes his chest hurt.

Maybe it would be all right if Nick was out there, not hating him. Maybe it would make things hurt a little less. Maybe it would let him sleep. Maybe it would let him breathe. 

He reaches for his phone. _I'm sorry_ , he texts. _No joke. You were right. I've been a dick. I'm sorry xx_

There's no answering text, and it takes him a long time to fall asleep.

~*~

He wakes up in the morning tired and alone. His ribs still ache from the weekend's football match. His knee is still a mess. There's nothing on his phone from Nick, but there's a text from his mum, a _call me when you wake up xxx_ that he's answering even as he stumbles blearily into the kitchen, phone pressed to his ear. "Morning, Mum."

"Hiya, love," she says, as he's bunging water in the kettle and rooting around for a teabag in the cupboard with one eye open. 

"Hey," he manages. They're supposed to be going over some of the charity work today that Louis wants to get started on, but it's too early for that. It's got to be too early for business. He hasn't even had his tea. 

"Did you just wake up?"

"Yeah. Just putting the kettle on. Do you want a brew?"

"Course," she says. "How's things with you?"

Louis resolutely does not think about Nick and his new boyfriend. He doesn't think about Nick naked with someone else, Nick kissing someone else, someone else getting to see Nick as he comes. "All right," he says. "Ribs are still killing me." There's a week to go before his next charity football match, the one where he's playing for Doncaster Rovers, the one that's the fulfilment of every childhood dream he's ever had that didn't involve playing Danny Zuko or singing on stage. His ribs have got to stop hurting by then. The universe can't possibly shit on him that much. The nerves are already settling right on in about getting on the pitch again; he loves football, but that doesn't make him a footballer. It was bad enough getting taken out in last week's game, but the idea of going out into the Rovers ground and disappointing people again, at home, is the worst. The fans who've paid money to come and see him, and the other guys on the team who've agreed to play with him. The charities that are due to benefit. Fuck, Louis just needs to do something that doesn't go completely fucking tits up at the first opportunity. 

"You're taking the painkillers?"

Louis makes a noise that could technically mean anything. 

"Lou-is."

"I know, I know. I'll take them." They're around somewhere. He hasn't exactly unpacked from getting back from America last month yet, and they're leaving for Australia soon. He just can't quite bring himself to have a big tidy up, and anyway, he's lazy about painkillers. They don't fix him, they just mask the pain, and he wants to know how much trouble he's in. "What's up, anyway? It's way too early to be talking about that charity stuff. I haven't even had my tea yet."

"Stick a bit of toast on, chick," she says. "Get some cereal on the go."

"Mum…" Louis says a little suspiciously, since his cereal cupboard is the butt of as many jokes as his family can think of. It's the only thing he religiously and relentlessly improves and stocks, because cereal is the greatest thing in the universe after sex and orgasms. 

"What are you having today? Bit of Lucky Charms? Those cinnamon things that taste like death?"

"You're really selling them to me," Louis says, but he roots around in the cupboard for a clean bowl anyway. He's only really eaten cereal this week, and the majority of his bowls are already littered around the flat growing tiny milky ponds of revoltingness. "What's going on?"

"So," she says, drawing it out. 

"Mum, come on."

"I've got some news."

He's rather suspected that Dan might be moving in the direction of asking his mum to marry him. Dan's a good bloke -- a bit too enthusiastic about golf to be truly acceptable, but if Louis can put up with Niall and Harry going bananas about the most rubbish sport in the world then he can put up with his mum's boyfriend doing it too, so long as he doesn't have to go along and pretend to like it -- so if they have got engaged then Louis can probably work with that. He can't help but feel a bit odd about it. He was in the middle of leaving home when his parents divorced; the X Factor is a lot like the break between him being a kid and him being an adult, and every bit of his childhood that he can remember comes with his dad attached. It's weird that there's a world going on without him, his sisters finding a space in a home without his dad or him there. His mum is his favourite person in the world, and Dan makes her really happy, but Louis can't quite bring himself to be one hundred per cent satisfied with the world moving on without him, with his family changing and shifting even when he's not there. 

"I'm pregnant."

Louis chokes and spills Choco Pillows across the counter top. He puts the box down. "God. What. Really?" 

"Yep. You're going to be a big brother again."

"Christ," he says, a little dazed. "I mean - wow. How long have you known?"

"About two weeks," she says. "Not long. I thought I was just run down. I wanted to tell you straight away but I had a scan yesterday, so I wanted to wait and make sure everything was all right. And you've been so busy. Then I was going to tell you at the weekend but you got hurt."

"You weren't too scared about the scan, were you?"

"A bit."

"I would have come with you," Louis says, his head spinning. A new baby brother or sister. Maybe he'll finally get the brother he's always secretly wished for. "To the scan. You know I would. Do the girls know? When are you due?"

"End of February. And no, I wanted to tell you first. I thought I'd tell them tonight, when they're home from school. But, look, love, there's something else."

"What?" His heart speeds up. 

"It's not - it's twins, love. I'm having twins."

Louis sits down on one of the bar stools in his kitchen and rubs at his eyes with his fist. "Congratulations," he says, and he means every word, even though the space for him in his own family has just shrunk down a little, closing in on itself without his permission. His mum sounds so happy, and nervous, and in love. "Oh, Mum, congratulations."

She laughs then, hiccupping. "Oh, Lou. More babies."

"Just the way you like it," he says. "I'm so happy for you, Mum. So happy."

She laughs again; her voice catches. "I wanted you to be pleased. I wanted you to be happy so much."

His mum always wants that for him. It's rubbish that he's spent a lot of this year hating the secrets he's forcing himself to keep. 

"I want all of my kids to be happy."

"I know," Louis says. It doesn't matter what he's uncertain about in his life, it doesn't extend as far as his mum. He starts to pile up the spilled Choco Pillows, pushing them together into a really poor attempt at building a hillside. "Are you still all right with me coming up this weekend? You don't need, like, some time or anything?"

"Oh, love," she says. "You've always got a place here, you know that, right? That never changes. You can always come up. Whenever you want."

"I know."

"You've got a home here. Wherever you go and whatever you do. Even with the new babies. You're never not a part of this family."

"Mum, god, I know." She's his best friend in the world, in a way that he can't ever articulate to anyone else. She doesn't know about Nick and she doesn't know about the other men he's fancied in his life; she doesn't know about the true extent of just how hurt he was not to have any solos during their X Factor run, or what it really felt like when his dad left and he couldn't be at home to get used to it. She doesn't know quite how it feels to be literally half a world away from everything that feels familiar, to feel like a ship that keeps sliding off course with no fucking compass to bring him back. But she knows him on the inside in a way that nobody else does, and they're connected, and he can't ever imagine not having her on his side. He can't ever imagine putting her in a situation where she might not be on his side. 

"You sound knackered, love."

"I'm all right. Just these flaming ribs, you know? They're driving me bonkers."

"Take the painkillers. They might help you sleep. Get yourself up here at the weekend, we'll look after you."

"You're the pregnant one, I should be looking after you." God, pregnant. It's amazing and terrifying all at the same time. Babies in the house again. Maybe a baby brother. All he's ever wanted is a baby brother. 

"I love you," she tells him. She's told him every day of his life. He never wants her to stop.

"I love you too," he says. 

When they've finished on the phone, with plans to catch up about the charity stuff later, he sits on the floor in his hall with a bowl of cereal in his lap. He hates living here. He misses having a home. 

He loves his family more than anything else in the world, give or take, but sometimes he's terrified that he's doing wrong by them, that just by carrying on doing the thing that he does, he's making life incrementally harder for them day by day. He can't just dump something else on top of all of that, this stupid thing where he can get hard for someone else's cock sometimes, the fact that sometimes he's so scared of how much his heart fucking twists for Nick fucking Grimshaw that he can't fucking breathe with it. 

_I love you_ , he texts his mum. _I'm so happy for you xxxxxx_

 _Im so happy_ , she texts back. _I love you so much x_

Maybe it'll be okay if he sees her, if he leaves this place and goes home. Maybe it'll all slot into place and it'll stop hurting so much.

~*~

Tumblr is still full of pictures of Nick and Harry and Kelly fucking Osborne at London Fashion Week. Louis scrolls down but it's the same pictures over and over again, the same pictures it's been for the past couple of days, ever since he'd got back to Doncaster and checked his phone in his mum's kitchen. It's Harry's face and Nick's stupid fucking smile, and Louis doesn't give a shit about Kelly Osborne but he's so fucking jealous that she's there and he's not that it hurts. Nick and Harry are so fucking easy with each other. They make each other laugh and they do it in public and Louis has no idea how to do that. He can't do that. He can't ever imagine standing next to Nick and having his picture taken; he can't imagine ever sitting front row at a fashion show like it's where he's meant to be, but both Nick and Harry look completely at home there.

He can't imagine spending time with Nick's family, and he definitely can't imagine doing it in public, at an Elton John concert, and putting pictures on the internet. He can't comprehend a reality where Nick would take a picture of him with Nick's dad, and be proud enough of Louis to put it up online. Not like Nick and Harry.

He doesn't even want to be the person Nick's taking pictures of, but it hurts that it won't ever happen. 

It's not fair that Harry gets to do this, that he gets to be whoever the fuck he wants to be and still come out of it allowed to have whatever relationships he wants, with whoever he wants, whenever he wants. The rumours wash over Harry like water off a duck's back, and they never fucking bother him. Louis can't be that person, he just can't, because every single thing that he does gets interpreted and it always ends up with him being gay, and he's tired of saying he isn't. He's so tired of it, and he's so tired of being this mass of stereotypes that people buy into, their assumptions everywhere he goes, and it's not fucking fair that if they knew he'd slept with Nick he'd be making them at least partway true. 

He's not the person they try and make him out to be, but he's not who he's pretending to be either. 

Sometimes he has no fucking clue who he is. It's exhausting. 

There's a knock on the door, and his mum pops her head round. "Come on," she says. "Don't stay up here by yourself. Come down."

"How are you feeling?" 

She grimaces, coming in and running her hand through his hair. "All right," she says. She's been throwing up a lot since he arrived. He can't make it better for her. Her first trimester is over, and he'd always thought the vomiting stopped there, but not this time. "Not about to throw up, so that's a win. Are you all right? I should be asking you."

He shrugs. Even the good stuff he tries to do seems to be fucking itself up at the moment. His football match in Glasgow had ended up with him with fucked up ribs, a damaged knee, and video of him throwing up from every angle. He's supposed to be playing in his Doncaster Rovers charity match on Wednesday, but he's spent the morning at Cantley Park being told he isn't recovered enough from Glasgow to go out on the pitch and play. 

"It's okay," he says. It's not. It feels like every time he tries to carve a space out for himself, something goes wrong. He couldn't do it with Nick and he can't do it with these charity matches and sometimes he feels like he can't do it in the band. There isn't anyone else in this world he loves more than his mum, but there isn't a space for him here anymore either; there's Dan and the new babies and his sisters, all getting on with their lives because they can't put it all on hold just because he's not around to see them grow up. 

He's got to get a fucking grip and get out of this funk; get rid of this ache in his chest that won't let him breathe. 

"Louis."

"I just feel shit," he relents. "All those people who bought tickets and then don't get to see me play, it's like I'm double letting them down. First of all me pretending to be a footballer in the first place, then not being able to sort my stupid ribs out enough to be able to play."

She sits down next to him. "They'll understand. You're injured. It's all for charity. We'll reschedule. They'll understand."

He laughs, tugging down his Rovers jumper. There's a huge section of his fans that never understand. That blame and ridicule and never give him a fucking break. They don't normally get to him, his mum constantly telling him that he won't ever be able to please everyone, and for him to just carry on doing what feels right. He must look shit if she's telling him they'll understand. 

"I'm gutted," he says softly. He means more than just the football. The pictures of Nick with Harry, their easy, smiling friendship. Nick with his stupid fucking rich boyfriend that isn't Louis. This unsettled desperation inside of him that he can't put to fucking rest. 

"I know, love," his mum says. She wraps an arm around his shoulders and kisses the top of his head. "But I'm so proud of you. Don't you ever forget how proud I am of you."

He doesn't know if she'd still be proud if she knew about him and Nick. It's a good thing they're done, and it's never going to happen again, so he can just move the fuck on from this stupid, awful disaster of a year. 

He's trying so fucking hard, but he just can't make himself forget. He just can't leave it all behind.

~*~

He stays in Doncaster as long as he can before the Australian leg of the tour. The night before his flight from Heathrow, he goes out with the lads, him and Stan and Oli and Calvin and Luke having planned a proper fucking Donny night out like the ones he'd had when he was seventeen. They start with an Indian and a round of Kingfishers, talking loudly about where they're going next, and where in town they want to end up. Louis fits in with them in a way he never does anywhere else. They know the parts of him that he didn't take with him to be in the band. They have bits of his history that no one else can ever understand, like fucking up his A levels, trying to be Danny Zuko, and his first girlfriend and how they'd talked about getting engaged even though they were fifteen. They'd known his sisters when they were babies, known his mum and his dad when they'd still been married. They remembered the first time Louis had smoked a spliff, knew about the time that Louis had got so wasted at Calvin's house party that he'd passed out face down in the hall with his shorts around his thighs, arse out and everything, and Calvin's mum and dad had come home and had to get him up and off the floor while he was still half-naked. He doesn't get to share any of that with anyone else. They'd grown up together.

But his life is a before and after and even with the best will in the world, they don't know all the bits of him now. They don't know the exhausting desperation of endless plane journeys and security and hotels and interviews and newspaper articles and the constant pressure of a twenty-four-seven social media cycle. The only people in the world who know what that's like are Harry and Niall and Liam and Zayn, but they don't know these parts of him, the bit of him that's so rooted in Doncaster that he has no fucking idea how to uproot himself. Then again, they don't know any better than he does how he's supposed to even try and look after the piece of himself he leaves behind him every time he leaves home. 

He hides himself in the gents at the Indian restaurant, his phone in his hand, and refreshes the page for the third time. The pictures of Nick dropping Harry off at the airport earlier today haven't magically gone away. Nick's grinning in the pictures, helping Harry unload his bags, the familiar security detail in the back of the shots. 

His thumb hovers over the screen, the HQ photo that Twitter and Tumblr have even before the news sites do zoomed right on in, Nick's face so familiar even now that somehow it doesn't seem like ages since they'd last kissed. In the pictures, Harry's laughing and Nick's clearly teasing, and jealousy swells inside Louis like a snake twisting around its prey. 

He refreshes the page again, but the pictures are still there. His stomach hurts.

"Hey." It's Stan, banging on the door of the loo. "Is that you in there, Tommo? How big a shit are you having, anyway? The curries are here, and Calvin says he's having yours if you're not done in two minutes."

Louis shoves his phone in his pocket, and unlocks the door. 

"I'm done," he says, and he's tried. He's tried so fucking hard to be through with this, to leave Nick behind like it never even fucking happened, but he _can't_. He doesn't know how to make it stop. He doesn't know how to turn any of this off.

Stan looks at him. For a second he seems almost careful. "You all right?" 

"Course," Louis lies. Maybe Nick's going home to have sex with Gareth, the two of them sprawling out on the sofa with Puppy at their feet so they can kiss lazily in front of the TV. Or maybe they'll meet up later and have sex in Nick's bed, Nick stretched out sleepily, hand around his dick as he strokes himself to an easy orgasm, Gareth's mouth on his. 

It doesn't matter. Nick's not his, and he never was, and Louis doesn't want him like that anyway.

"You sure about that, mate?"

Louis makes a big deal about rolling his eyes. "I'm fine," he says. "Nothing a good night out's not going to solve."

Stan claps him on the back as they wander back out into the restaurant, the lads letting out a roar of approval as they slide back into their seats. They've got the beers lined up and Louis's behind. 

He fucking hates being left behind. 

He raises his bottle, clinks it against Oli's, and downs half of it in one. 

He can do this. He _can_.

~*~

The club is cheap and loud and sweaty and the music is mostly crap. It's just what Louis wants, something easy and normal, not cool enough to be special, something to pull himself out of his head and back into the life he was supposed to be leading before the band came along and changed everything. He wants to get wankered and forget about the rest of it. Forget about Harry, who's probably still on a flight to LA, and Nick, who could be doing anything right now but isn't doing it with Louis.

Calvin claps him on the back, beer in hand, and leans in to yell in Louis's ear. "Look at the lasses in here, mate."

Louis can't help but look. There are girls everywhere, proper Yorkshire girls, girls with accents that remind him of home. There's a boy in the middle of the dance floor in tight jeans and a white t-shirt, hair sticking up. 

It's the boy he looks twice at. 

He drags his gaze away, and nods towards the bar. "Let's get the shots in, all right? Get proper bladdered."

Calvin laughs. "Get enough in for the girls too," he says, elbow going up, an arrow that Louis follows. There's a group of girls edging closer, the two in front long-legged and blonde. They're not Louis's type. "All right, ladies," Calvin says to them. "You fancy a shot or two?"

"Course," the girl in front says, but her gaze is on Louis, and not on Calvin. They've been through this before; Louis doesn't exactly enjoy his friends being ignored, but Calvin says he doesn't mind. He might get the leftovers but he's still getting some. Louis tries to feel like that, like getting some girl to say yes is the be all and end all, but sometimes it feels like a chore. 

Sometimes it's okay that he doesn't have the freedom to go out every night and pull. 

Sometimes months go past without him putting his dick anywhere. 

Fuck, _Nick_.

God, he needs to get out of this funk. He smiles at the first girl. "Hi," he says. "I'm Louis. Are you having a good night?"

"I know who you are," she says, and she smiles back at him, eyes bright. She leans in. "I'm Laura. And I'm having a great night."

"Ace," Louis says, plastering on a smile. He can have a drink and a bit of a dance and maybe pull someone on the dance floor as midnight passes by. The lighting's bad enough and the music crap enough that he might get through the night without getting hassled. He's with his mates, and the girls are pretty enough. He puts an arm around Laura's shoulders. "Let's get the drinks in."

~*~

He wakes up on Stan's living room floor at six in the morning to the sound of the alarm on his phone, still fucking knackered, and needing to piss. His head's banging and his mouth tastes like something died in it. A hamster, perhaps. Something furry and small and revolting. There's a pint glass by his head, but it's half full of something that might well have been some kind of homemade cocktail. Louis barely remembers what they were drinking when they got in from the club, but he knows one thing: whatever is in that glass is probably more disgusting than a hangover hamster.

He stumbles into the kitchen, downs a pint of water, and steals four paracetamol from a packet on top of the microwave. He still needs the loo but he holds off, nicking some of Stan's toothpaste and using his finger to make some attempt at removing the taste of the night before. He spits into the sink, then stares blearily into the mirror. He's all circles and squares, shapes hewn out of cheap shots and bad life choices. His eyes are bloodshot and the photos at Heathrow later are going to be shit. He splashes water on his face instead of going to the loo, holding out until there's nothing else left for him to do but unzip his jeans and piss. 

Afterwards, it's a case of making sure he has his phone and his wallet. Oli stirs as Louis's shoving his almost-dead phone into his pocket, rolling over on the sofa. 

"You off, mate?" he asks, voice a little hoarse. 

Louis nods. He's got to get back to his mum's in time for the car to pick him up to go back to London. Then he's got to pick up the rest of his stuff, and get all the way across London to Heathrow in time for the flight. At least he can sleep then. 

Oil looks properly rough. He drags himself up into a sitting position, then to his feet so he can tug Louis into a hug. "Don't be a stranger," he says, nose pressed to Louis's hair. "And I'm not being funny, but you stink."

Louis laughs at that. They both smell like the revolting remains of last night. He hugs Oli back, clapping him on the back. "Still time for you to change your mind and come out with me," he says. "Hang out in Oz for a bit."

"Tell that to my credit card bill," Oli says. "I dunno. I might change my mind. See if I can get the time off."

"I'll ring you," Louis says. There's a lump in his throat. "Be good."

"I'm always good," Oli says, and then there's a shift in his expression, and he looks suddenly pale. "Christ. Just gonna throw the fuck up."

Louis isn't staying for that. Nothing mars the stench of repeated goodbyes like the morning after the night before. "I'll see you," he says, but Oli's already half way into the bathroom and retching into the loo. 

He lets himself out of Stan's quietly, walking the familiar way back to his mum's. 

He's halfway there before he remembers she doesn't live there anymore, that there's a house with Dan and his sisters that he doesn't have a room in. 

Everything changes, is the thing. Nothing stays still just because he's somewhere else. Everybody moves on. 

He doesn't think about Nick.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to slowestdive, @_summerstars, @disconnecd, and @rainbowslinky for going through this for me. Any remaining mistakes are definitely my own.
> 
> Things I have learnt whilst editing this: [wetting the baby's head](http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=wet+the+baby%27s+head) is not a universally recognised idiom for celebrating a baby. THE THINGS YOU LEARN.

~*~

Their flight to Australia is so long that they're not even half way there before Louis wants to tear his own arms off in frustration. He kicks the seat in front of him until Liam appears over the seat back, yawning and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. 

"Louis. Fucking hell."

"What," Louis says, not bothering to make it a question. He kicks his seat again. 

"Stop it," Liam says, but there's something gentle in his expression. "You okay?"

"Fine," Louis says, because desperation's caught in his chest like the threat of a sob, and it has been for hours. He hadn't anticipated leaving being this hard. He's done it before, a hundred times, but his mum hadn't been pregnant before. Nick hadn't been moving on with his life before. 

_We're not forever, and you're not the one_.

It hasn't felt like this before. 

"You'll see your mum again soon, you know," Liam says after a pause. They've known each other long enough, been through this enough times to know when it's excitement and know when it's something else. It isn't that Louis doesn't want to do this, but fuck, it would also be nicer if the world was a hundred times smaller and his family were just around the corner. He's torn. On the one hand he wants a million miles between him and any mention of Nick fucking Grimshaw; at the exact same time he wants to be round the corner from his mum, ten minutes from a cup of tea and a packet of biscuits, near enough for a hug and a promise that it'll be all right. 

The babies will grow without him, and that's the worst thing about all of this. Life doesn't get put on hold. 

"I know," Louis says. He pauses, glancing round. First class is quiet and the people he can see are asleep. He lowers his voice. "Mum's pregnant."

Liam's eyes widen. "What, really? Wow, Louis…" He reaches over to clap Louis on the shoulder, his hand remaining there afterwards, squeezing. "Are you okay with it?"

"Course I am. She's happy." He is happy about it, but he's not sure if he sounds it. Bits of how he feels about Nick keep threading their way into everything else, like Gareth's very existence means that he can't think about anything else. It's like he's obsessed. 

"A new baby," Liam says, and he sounds legitimately happy. There's a genuine kind of honesty to the way that Liam lives his life that Louis is desperately envious of, now even more so than usual. There's so much that Louis has kept from everyone. "Do you think it's going to be another girl?"

"It might be two," Louis says, after a beat. "It's twins."

Liam looks like he might fall out of his booth. He clambers out of his seat instead, coming and jabbing Louis's feet out of the way in his little makeshift first class bed. "Come here." He beckons Louis into a hug, and Louis can't admit to how desperately he wants it. He rubs his nose over Liam's neck, wrapping his arms around him.

"Think of all the baby trainers you can buy them."

"I know." Louis doesn't pull away. He's so disconnected at the moment. Liam's new relationship with Sophia, his mum's focus on Dan and the girls and the life he's not a part of anymore. Harry, who's growing up and growing away from him, and no matter how much Louis tries, he can't keep a hold of him. Nick, who wouldn't settle for what Louis was offering. Nick, who'd moved on, and Louis, who couldn't. 

"You told any of the others yet?"

Louis shakes his head, sitting back. "Just you." 

Liam tilts his head. "You sure you're okay?"

_No_. "Yeah. I'm just sick of fucking flying."

"Yeah," Liam echoes. This, at least, he can probably be sympathetic about. The endless flights get to all of them, and Louis isn't in the mood to fuck around and while away the hours causing chaos. "Do you fancy wetting the babies' heads?"

"Both babies," Louis says, pressing the button for the flight attendant. "Double the drinks." 

"Should we wake him?"

Across from them, Zayn's asleep in his little first class cubby, curled up like they're not moving through the sky, half a world away from home. 

"Nah," Louis says, because Zayn looks peaceful, sleeping, and Louis isn't sure he's got it in him to keep everything locked down inside of him if Zayn wakes up in a watchful mood. "We'll just do it again when he wakes up. Like we need an excuse."

"Think this means the boys are properly back in town."

"They fucking are," Louis says, but it's a lie. Half of him is somewhere else, locked away in a relationship that wasn't ever a relationship, trapped and unable to get away. His head won't let him out. 

They get Jack Daniels, doubles, and wash them down with Coke and packets of mini pretzels. 

Later, when Louis's head is fuzzy and he's exhausted and drunk and still not in fucking Australia, he remembers sleeping next to Nick, curled up together like they didn't hate wanting each other. Like they didn't hate each other. Like Nick hadn't picked virtually everyone to be friends with over Louis. Like needing each other the way that they had wasn't the worst thing in the world. 

He can't sleep, so he goes over and over the memory of Nick kissing him, gentle, like he mattered, until he's so tired of remembering he wants to scream. 

He still can't fucking sleep. 

~*~

He dozes in the end, drifting in and out of dreams, except he's not asleep enough for it to be anything other than sad memories. He remembers moments: Nick asleep next to him and Louis whispering _you make me feel like I'm home_ before slipping out in the middle of the night, or Louis trying not to cry as he crossed Primrose Hill before the sun properly rose, the car picking him up at the other side of the park, or Puppy's cold nose against his knees as he got dressed before he left. 

Something that had never even fucking started couldn't be over. It couldn't. It didn't work like that. He and Nick weren't ever anything. There was nothing to mourn. 

They were over but they'd never even begun. 

~*~

Louis wakes up thinking, **I love him** , and everything goes to shit. 

~*~

Zayn doesn't properly wake up until the plane's landed and is making its way to the gate. Everyone's busily trying to gather together their belongings as much as they can before the seatbelt sign goes off, but Zayn just stretches, sloth-like, and doesn't make any effort to move. Louis tries not to be mad at him, but he's had a grand total of about forty-five minutes proper sleep across the entirety of the flight, and he's about ready to tear himself into pieces just to make it all stop. 

He's not stupid enough to think that realising he's in love with Nick is something new. It's been there all along. 

He just can't, that's all. He can't. 

"Come on, Sleepyhead," Liam says, leaning over the aisle to poke Zayn awake. 

"Wake the fuck up," Louis snaps, probably too loudly. Liam raises an eyebrow at him even as Zayn's standing up, still half-asleep even as he's getting his jacket and his rucksack and heading for the door. Louis follows, still trying to get his Vans back on, his sock caught up funny so his trainer won't slip on. His rucksack's half open and his stuff's probably spewing out; it's Alberto waiting for him by the door who rolls his eyes and zips it shut for him. The rest of the plane isn't allowed to disembark until they're off and on their way into the terminal, but Louis can't get his head in gear. He's so fucking tired, he has no fucking clue what day it is, and he's pretty sure his throat's starting to hurt. That had better be because of the recycled air on the plane, because being sick would be the cherry on the top of a cake of shit. 

Christ. 

He's in love with a man. He's in love with _Nick_. 

In the queue for passport control, he tips forward so that his forehead is resting against Zayn's shoulder. "Be my pillow," he says, a little quieter than he might normally demand it, and he feels Zayn's little huff of breath through his shoulders, a sleepy _okay_. 

He tries to breathe in and out. 

"We should go to Kangaroo Island," Liam says a minute later, elbowing Louis and pointing at a poster. 

Louis shifts a little so that his cheek is pressed to Zayn's jacket. "Sure," he says, because he's so tired there's a distinct possibility he's hallucinating kangaroos, and what he wants right now is a bed with sheets that smell familiar, and no schedule to keep to. That isn't his life, though, and it isn't what he wants. There are just these moments, little pockets of time where nothing gels together and it's like he's been travelling for a million years, where he wishes things were different. He wishes he could just stop time and have all the bits of his life catch up with each other and mesh themselves back together. 

He loves Nick. 

In the car on the way to the hotel, he stares down at his phone until his vision blurs and separates and he's seeing double; he blinks, refocusing, and thumbs through to Nick's name in his WhatsApp. He types in, _you n harry made up then_ , which is a stupid thing to text because the entire fucking internet has been posting nothing but pictures of Harry and Nick for the whole of the last couple of weeks, and because nobody except for Louis has noticed that there's been a few months where Nick's barely gone near him. And nobody except for Louis knows why, and Louis feels the weight of that guilt - of what Nick's hiding for him - and he's got no idea how to deal with it. 

He presses send anyway, because he's an idiot with the survival skills of a lemming. 

Nick doesn't text back, but then, Louis never expected him to. Realisations don't change anything. 

~*~

The hotel is miles outside of Adelaide, surrounded by vineyards, and staying out here is supposed to give them a good twenty-four hours to acclimatise to running on upside-down time. Louis faceplants onto the bed, starfishing out with his face in the pillows, and wishes for sleep. The room is cool, an overhead fan twisting the air into rivulets of breeze, catching in the folds of his t-shirt as he closes his eyes. He feels stale and revolting and his hips ache from the awkward position he'd had to sit in on the plane; somewhere beneath his skin is the remains of the hangover from Doncaster, gone in all but memory, just waiting to be washed away. He needs a shower and a sleep, but he doesn't get either. Sleep won't come and he's too knackered to move. He puts the telly on instead, flicking through the channels in the vain hope there'll be something to pass the time, something to sever the link between home and here, but all he gets is some shit film about a photographer who answers a singles ad and ends up on a horse farm somewhere in America. 

He rings Zayn after an hour of staring at the TV mindlessly. "Save me," he says, when Zayn sleepily answers. 

"What from?"

"From myself," Louis says, flopping back on the bed. "I'm watching this film where she used to take pictures of rubbish but now she's taking pictures of horses being tamed and I'm supposed to believe she's falling in love with this fucked up horse farmer."

Zayn sounds half asleep. "Stop watching fucked up horse farmers," he says. "Come and get fucked up with us, instead."

Maybe Zayn doesn't sound that half asleep after all. 

"We've been here five seconds. Where'd you get the good stuff in five seconds?"

Zayn just laughs. They've started turning up places and having it be there waiting for them. It takes the edge off of all the constant travelling and moving around and never getting a chance to fucking unpack. Louis always did have a problem saying no. 

"Can I shower at yours?"

"Course," Zayn says. "Come the fuck on."

Louis grabs shorts and a t-shirt. He ends up tipping half of his suitcase onto the floor in an effort to find his toilet bag, but once he finds it, he sets off down the corridor to find Zayn. He just wants to get out of his head for a bit. Get out of his head and forget that he's ever been in love with Nick fucking Grimshaw. There isn't space in his head for loving Nick and dealing with all the rest of it as well. He's not sure there ever will be. 

~*~

He ends up on the balcony with Zayn, Preston, and Alberto, his hair damp from the shower, his feet up on one of the patio chairs. They pass a spliff round, and Louis breathes in, and breathes out, and for a while it feels like all the stuff in his head is slowing down just a little bit, just enough for him to rest, just for a moment. 

~*~

"You all right?" Zayn asks later, when they're laid on Zayn's bed with the TV on, just the two of them. The weed's mostly worn off, but he's had a couple of beers and his shoulders don't feel quite so tight as they did. 

Louis shrugs. "I'll be fine," he says. "Just, you know. Sometimes it's hard."

"Yeah," Zayn says. He waits a beat. "Harry'll be here soon."

Louis just nods. He feels awkward around Harry and he doesn't even know why, because none of this is Harry's fault; Harry has no idea that inviting himself over all those months ago was the cause of Louis and Nick's thing coming to an end, and he has no idea about the ridiculous, desperate jealousy that Louis has because Harry gets to be friends with Nick. 

He can't stop thinking about Nick. He can't stop. 

"I'm going to go to sleep," Zayn says. "Do you want to stay?"

"Nah." He shakes his head. "Gonna go back to my room."

"All right," Zayn says, and he holds his hand out for a fist bump. "Missed you, bro."

"Yeah," Louis says, and he goes in for the hug. He clings a moment too long before clapping him on the back and pulling away. 

There's a part of him that wants to unload, wants to blurt it all out so that it's not all locked up inside of him, but he doesn't have the words. _I've been sleeping with Nick Grimshaw_ isn't something he can say out loud. It isn't something he can ever say out loud. _I love him_ is worse. 

"You sure you won't stay?"

"Sure," Louis says, and the rest of it stays trapped in his chest, tight and painful and sharp. 

Back in his room, he stares up at the ceiling fan until the blades blur together and the night seeps into day. 

He dozes for a bit, and when he wakes up, there's a message on his phone from Nick, an answer to his text about him and Harry making up. 

_We didn't fall out but yep_. 

Louis sits up in bed, the covers round his lap. Nick, half a world away, with his attention focused on Louis, if only for the amount of time it takes him to send a message. There's something about that that's intoxicating, but it hurts too much to think about. His hand trembles. 

He texts, _you think you're ever going to forgive me?_

His phone doesn't immediately buzz with a reply, even though he waits and waits. 

It's only later, when they're at lunch, that he gets a message back. 

It just says, _no_. 

~*~

"How are you feeling?" Niall asks, which is great because clearly Louis is doing a bang-up job of pretending he's okay if Niall is being gentle with him this early in the tour. "You sure you don't want to come play golf?"

They've moved hotels. Louis feels dead inside, like he's operating on a time zone that's not here and not home, like he's out of sync and can't get back on track. His niggling, tickly throat has turned into an actual sore throat. They'd played their first show the night before and Louis barely remembers any of it. He'd managed about three hours sleep afterwards. Not even hopelessly masturbating in the middle of the night and trying not to think about Nick had helped; he'd just ended up staring up at the ceiling fan after coming into his hand, Nick's name lost against his lips. 

He's been left trying not to ring his mum just to be miserable down the phone. 

"I'd rather stick pins in my eyes, Nialler." 

Niall just laughs. "It's the best game in the world, mate."

"Thought that was footie. Or rugby."

"They share the top spot." 

The hotel restaurant's fairly empty; Harry and Liam have gone to the park, Zayn's still asleep, and it's just the two of them eating breakfast. There's a security meeting going on a couple of tables away from them, and a few enterprising fans who've managed to get rooms in the hotel are sitting as close as security will let them—which, luckily, isn't close enough to overhear their conversation. Louis hasn't got it in him to pretend both to Niall and to them today; it's bad enough he has to go on stage tonight when he's fairly sure his sore throat is developing into something worse. 

"No, but seriously, you all right?" Niall looks properly concerned.

"Just this stupid sore throat," Louis says. The lads all know about his mum being pregnant now, and they've all asked in their own special way if he's okay with it. Just because there's a family being created somewhere that all of his sisters fit into but he doesn't quite. It's only Louis who knows that that's not the thing threatening to tear him to pieces. "I had all that time at home to be sick and I had to get it and jet lag all at the same time. What kind of fair is that?"

"It's not," Niall says. He steals a piece of toast off Louis's plate. It's gone cold but Niall doesn't seem to mind. He's been in Australia for a while now, and he's acclimatised and tanned and happy. "What are they doing about your throat?"

"Going to the doctor's in a bit," Louis says. He's got these throat sprays and lozenges but it still feels like it's there, promising to get worse. It's the punishment for falling in love that he always secretly thought he might deserve. "But hey, before that, I have to do that stupid steam inhalation thing. Paul's sent someone to find fucking eucalyptus or something."

"They'll have to wrestle it from the koalas." Niall claps him on the shoulder. "Are you sure you're all right with everything else? You're a bit off."

"Nah," Louis lies, because the idea of saying the words _I'm in love with Nick Grimshaw_ out loud continues to make him feel worse than any sore throat does. "Just jet lag, innit?"

"All right. Look, I'm going to go play a round. We'll catch up later, though, mate, right?"

Louis nods. He's not going to finish his breakfast. He leaves it, and goes back up to his room to faceplant on his bed until it's time to leave for the doctor's. 

~*~

Alberto comes with him, and they end up sitting for ages in traffic on the way home, Alberto tapping the steering wheel and Louis staring out the window. 

"You're not your usual self," Alberto says, after a while. 

Louis shrugs. He's been told to cut back on his solos. They're already turning his mic up so that he can sing quieter, but the doctor had said something about vocal strain and nodules being more of a risk, and there is seriously nothing at the moment that's going right. Nick's moved on, and Nick is never going to forgive him, and Louis likes dick as well as pussy and he just fucking _can't_. He can't. 

"You haven't been yourself for a while," Alberto goes on. "You want to talk about any of it?"

There's a little wad of papers in Louis's lap, stuff from the doctors and notes for the team. It blurs a little, and it takes a few blinks for Louis to realise that he's close to tears. He keeps thinking about Nick's text, his blunt, painful _no_. 

"No," he says, and his voice doesn't catch. 

"This got anything to do with that friend of yours?" Alberto asks after a minute. His voice is pitched deliberately neutral. 

Louis goes very still. "What friend?"

"The one you kept visiting. The address that kept turning up on your car account summaries." He waits a beat. "I'm not a risk to you, Lou. You know that. I'm paid to do a job, and I do it better if I know what's going on. That's why I look at the statements for the car account. No one else does. It's your private account."

Louis looks out of the window. He doesn't think about those times he'd get a car to take him to Nick's and they'd sit at the end of the street until Louis made them turn around again and drive him back home without him even getting out of the back seat. "Do you know whose address it was?"

"Does it matter?" Alberto says. 

"It's not what you think."

"I don't think anything. I'm just saying, you know, that if you wanted to talk to someone, then you know where I am, all right?"

Louis's heart pounds. "I don't need you fucking snooping in my fucking private life. I don't need you to talk to and I don't need you rooting through my bins looking for fucking gossip, all right? It's not what you think. It's nothing."

"I'm just offering," Alberto says, and he's using that measured, professional voice, the one he reserves for staff at radio stations and magazine interviews where he doesn't agree that what the lads are being asked to do is safe and secure. He's never put Louis in danger, but if he knows about him and Nick and he's going to blab, then right at this moment Louis would push him off a cliff and run for the hills. "If you don't want to talk about it with anyone else, you can talk about whatever you want to with me."

"There's nothing to talk about," Louis reiterates, and he turns the radio up, and won't look at Alberto again. 

~*~

Liam's worried, pacing the hotel room. "There are snakes," he says, going over to the window and pulling back the blinds a little so that he can peek out. "There are signs. Why aren't they paying attention to the signs?"

"This country's fucking messed up," Zayn flops back on the bed next to Louis. Louis feels like he's vibrating inside, like everyone can see that he's in love with Nick and about ready to explode. "Why would you live somewhere where a snake could just slither on inside when you're watching the telly?"

"But the girls," Liam says, going out on the balcony and then coming back in again. "They're in shorts. It's a snake habitat."

Louis can't make himself feel properly worried. He can't make himself feel anything, really. He rolls over so that he can curl himself round the pillows. "Call reception and make them send someone out."

"I'm tweeting," Liam says, phone in hand. "Telling them to move."

"You're a good person," Louis says, pulling the quilt up. The air conditioning's up high so he's cold as well as tired, and he's not particularly sure what day it is. His mum's not answering his texts, but as she works shifts he still has no idea what time it is at home. "Save them, Payno."

"They're not moving," Liam says, a minute later. He's typing again. Louis closes his eyes. He still can't sleep. He can't remember the last time he slept the night through. He feels sick. 

"It's a snake habitat, turn around?" Zayn says, laughing, phone in his hand. "Liam."

"How'd you like to be bitten by a snake?" Liam asks, smacking Zayn's shoulder. "I'm going to go down and get someone to move them. Do you want to come?"

Zayn fucking hates being surrounded by people when he doesn't have to be. "It's all right if I don't, right?" 

Liam nods, ruffling his hair, poking Louis in the ankle. "Look after him instead."

"I'll try," Zayn says. It's a minute or so later when Louis feels Zayn's hand in his hair. "You as ill as all that, Lou?"

"I'd probably feel better if I could fucking sleep," Louis tells him. "It's just a sore throat but I can't fucking sleep."

"You want some tea? Then I'll leave you alone."

"Don't," Louis says. "You can stay. I can't sleep anyway."

They end up watching TV, tea in hand, Louis curled up in bed with Zayn by his side. 

He just wants to sleep. He just fucking wants to sleep. 

~*~

It doesn't get better. The next day his sore throat's back with a vengeance and he's supposed to manage on four hours' sleep. He slumps on Niall's shoulder at breakfast, and sips at his tea. He's too tired to make fun of Liam for his snake habitat tweet -- which all the blogs have picked up -- and they're leaving after the show that night for Perth, so he doesn't even get a familiar bed to sleep in. Just another new one, another one where the sheets are too crisp and the covers are all tucked in wrong and the room isn't completely dark. He ends up tweeting, _still not managed to get into the time zone :( feel like a zombie_ , and tries to sleep curled up in the most uncomfortable chair ever. 

"You all right?" Harry asks, sitting down next to him back stage at the venue. "Saw your tweet."

"I don't know what's wrong." Louis shifts over, and hides his face in Harry's shoulder. "I can't fucking sleep. I'm so tired." He's too close to tears to even hide it. 

"Babe," Harry says softly, and then he's wrapping his arms around Louis's shoulders and Louis can't keep it locked up anymore, he's crying into Harry's shirt and he doesn't even know how to list what he wants, let alone ask for it. Everything feels twisted up and upside down and back to front, and he hates it all. He's so mixed up. He's so, so fucking mixed up. "Oh, Lou. It's okay. Don't cry."

It's too late for that. Louis is so tired, and so confused, and he's in love with someone who doesn't want him back. He messed it up even before it became a thing, and the worst thing is, he still doesn't know if he even _wanted_ to make it a thing. He's never wanted to like cock, and it's especially not fair that the one he likes is fucking Nick Grimshaw's. It's really, really not fair that he fell in love with him. "I just want to sleep," Louis says, through his tears. "My throat hurts and I don't feel well, and I just want to sleep."

"I know," Harry says, stroking his hair. "I know. I'm sorry."

"I just want to sleep," Louis says again, face buried in Harry's shirt. Harry saw Nick much more recently than Louis did. Maybe he's still there on Harry's clothes. "I don't know why I can't."

Harry keeps on hugging him until it's time to go on stage, and none of it is fair. He can't even do his solos because his throat's so bad. None of it's fair, and now he's losing this, too. 

He's losing himself, somewhere in amongst all of this, and he doesn't know how to make it stop. 

~*~ 

The doctor gives him a sleeping pill, and he misses an interview the following morning so he can sleep the clock round in Perth. He wakes up with hardly any voice, but not feeling quite so hideously dead. He'll take this feeling of mostly dead over how he felt yesterday. He's alone apart from Alberto, everyone else off at the interview, and Alberto arranges for someone to go and pick up a McDonald's breakfast for Louis and bring it back to the hotel. He's slept so long he's missed the breakfast menu, so he's left having an extra large Big Mac meal instead because he's living the fucking dream. 

"Thanks," Louis croaks, sitting up in bed to open his paper bag of delicious McDonald's food. Alberto opens the doors to the balcony for a bit of fresh air, and pulls a seat up to the bed. He's got a burger too, and a huge drinks cup. 

"You feeling any better?"

Louis shrugs. "A bit." He hadn't sung at all the night before, just hanging out on stage and getting hugged by Niall a lot. 

"All right," Alberto says. "I know you shut me down last time, so I'm just going to offer this really quickly, okay? But if there's anything you want to talk about, you know where I am."

Louis stares down at his burger. "There's nothing to talk about." There's no way he can ask, _do you think I'm shagging Nick Grimshaw_ without asking _do you think I'm shagging Nick Grimshaw_ , and he can't ask that question. He can't ever ask that question.

"Okay. But just so you know, my job is to protect you. Whatever you tell me, it stays with me. Especially about your personal life, all right? No one's business outside of us."

Louis picks at his fries. "You didn't bring ketchup."

"It's in the bag. Lou--"

"I think I want to get away from here for a couple of days. Get some, I don't know, fucking distance or something. No hassle."

There's a pause. Alberto puts his burger down. "Like, skip the concerts?"

"No. Like, before we play Melbourne. Go somewhere."

"Where do you want to go?"

"No idea," Louis says. "I want to get out of my head for two fucking seconds."

Alberto gets his iPad out of his inside pocket. "We could go straight after the last Perth show," he says. "You want to just see where we can get a flight to?"

"We?" Louis says. 

"Purely so you don't have to worry about getting hassle," Alberto says carefully. There's so much they're not saying. Louis's grateful, but he can't ever say it. God, he just wants to get away. He'd run forever if he could, but wherever he runs, he's still going to have to deal with how he feels at the end of it. "Give you the space you need."

"Right," Louis says, not quite meeting Alberto's eyes. He reaches for his laptop. "All right."

It's ten minutes later when he pokes his computer over towards Alberto. 

"Fiji," he says softly, and Alberto nods his _okay_. 

~*~

They leave for Fiji straight after the last Perth show, Alberto shielding him into a car the moment he's off stage. He's not got much with him, just a sports bag and his iPad; he's still towelling the sweat off his face even as the car pulls away, Alberto on his phone in the front passenger seat.

It's the need to run away that he just can't beat. It's the desperate voice inside of him he can't shut up, the one begging him for a break, the one telling him to leave and hide and just be somewhere where the rest of his life isn't for a bit. He's been ill for what feels like forever, his sore throat still there even though he's been poked and prodded by doctors and had the steroid injections to show for it, but underneath all of that, all the crap that makes him feel like a zombie and like he's letting down the fans by being sick, it's Nick. It's realising he's in love with him and knowing that Nick's moved on, it's being the other side of the world to where Nick is, it's keeping it secret and still being fucking obsessed with him, and it's too fucking much. It's too fucking much and he just wants it to stop. Just for a bit, he wants it to stop. 

He just needs five fucking seconds where it doesn't feel like the walls are closing in, that's all. Five fucking seconds. 

A few moments where he gets to breathe. 

"You all right?" Alberto asks.

"Yeah," Louis says, even though his heart's pounding, the comedown from being on stage that never really goes away. "Just looking forward to a bit of a break, mate, you know?"

Alberto doesn't say anything to that, just settling back into his seat, and Louis tips his head back against the head rest and breathes in and out. 

~*~

For a country that's supposedly quite close to Australia, Fiji is a fucking long flight. The recycled air messes with his throat and by the time they're in the car on the way to the hotel, Louis feels like a bear with a sore head. Not giving in to it and going off on one just because everything is the worst is an actual effort. In the end, he leans his head against the window and closes his eyes, focusing on the plan that's formulating in his head. It's definitely not anything he wants Alberto to know about, and it would work a hundred times better if he was here by himself without anyone watching over him. It's the limitations of the life he's picked, though, and wishing it away won't help. 

He sleeps a bit, the roll of the car engine lulling him to sleep, but the plan's still there when they pull into the hotel and he wakes up. 

Alberto's quiet. He's been quiet for the whole journey. He's not usually this quiet. Louis must be in a proper state to make Alberto this careful with him. 

When they get to Louis's room, Louis tilts forward into the bed, starfishing himself out on the sheets, face buried in the pillows. He's dropped his bag onto the floor by the end of the bed.

"You all right, mate?" Alberto asks finally, when Louis doesn't move for a good minute. 

"Yeah," Louis lies. The doors are open onto the balcony, and there's a little breeze, the curtains floating inwards a little, obscuring the sea view. He's in probably one of the most beautiful places on earth, and all he can think is, _I love Nick Grimshaw_. 

"How's the throat?"

"Fine," Louis says. It's not. His head feels thick and stuffy and even his face feels sore. His limbs are heavy and he wants to sink into this bed and not come out again. He's got the stuff the doctor gave him anyway, a bag of medicine in with his toiletries.

"You want to go and get something to eat?"

Louis shakes his head. He covers his eyes with his hands; just for a moment, he's perilously close to tears. 

"You want me to fuck off?"

There's a pause. Louis swallows down a sob. He's so, so tired. "Yeah," he says. "No offence."

"None taken." He scribbles something on the hotel note pad. "There's my room details. If you want to go out, just give me a ring."

"I won't. Have a beer. Enjoy the hotel."

"If you need me--"

"I won't." Alberto's a good guy; Louis shouldn't be this shit to someone who's just come off a six hour overnight flight just because Louis wants to get away from everything and everyone. 

"All right." 

Louis waits until he's sure the door's closed behind Alberto before he rolls over and buries his face in the pillows again.

~*~

He sleeps for about four hours in the end, and when he wakes up, he strips out of his underwear and walks straight into the shower, face tipped up into the spray. He wants to wash the tour off him already, even though touring Australia isn't like touring Europe. It's all planes, all the time, no shared stench of constant tour buses. It's hotels and car parks and rooms that don't feel like they're his bed. Without the familiarity of his own bunk on the bus, he's just constantly floating, shoving his stuff in and out of suitcases and never learning how his own sheets smell. 

He washes it all off, trying to scrub away every moment he's lost trying to deal with being in love with Nick. 

There isn't a shower long enough. 

In the end, he takes a beer from the mini bar, his wet hair still plastered to his face, and goes out onto the balcony in a pair of shorts. It's a beachfront resort complex, the exclusivity of the hotel costing him enough that - whilst the silence is incredibly peaceful - he's out of pocket by an arm and a leg. 

He'd like to bring his mum here, let her take full advantage of the spa and the break and the rest. She wouldn't; she's always an on-duty mum, even when they try and take some of that off her. He puts his feet up on the second seat, his beer sweating on the table beside him, and he texts her, _love you n miss you loads xx_

Thinking about what he's hidden from her makes him feel sick. 

He stays out on the balcony in the sun and whiles away the time until the evening, texting Alberto to let him know he's okay but he wants to be alone. 

~*~

The room service menu is mostly fish and posh stuff he doesn't really know how to make head nor tail of. He rings down to reception and asks if they can make him a burger and chips; it arrives in twenty minutes and he eats it out on the balcony whilst the sun starts to go down. 

When he's done, he stands in front of the mirror in the bathroom and fucks with his hair until it looks all right, then he puts on his tight black jeans and a loose white vest, and he goes out to find a bar with a guy who'll fuck him and make him forget Nick Grimshaw exists. 

~*~

The guy's name is Adam, and he's from Tasmania. He's tall, broad shouldered, and dressed in shorts and flip-flops. He thinks Louis's name is Tony and he's from Manchester. Adam knows Manchester; he sings _Don't Look Back in Anger_ to Louis as he buys him a shot. He looks like one of the boys in _Home and Away_. He doesn't know who Louis is. 

It's a relief and a curse, and Louis's heart pounds as he accepts the drink, Adam's hand curving over his hip and pulling him in. There aren't any explicitly gay bars in Fiji - or none that the internet had told him about, at least - but there are a couple that TripAdvisor had recommended as possibilities. Anyway, Louis doesn't want a fucking gay bar, he wants a bar for people who like cock a bit, and he wants a bar with someone in it who wants to have sex with him, and who doesn't know who the fuck he is. 

He wants Adam to push him up against the wall and hold Louis there as he jerks Louis off, wants to feel Adam's hands circling his wrists and have him tell Louis to stay still as that need pulses through him, the one that makes him reach for Nick even though every little bit of him is telling him _no_. He wants to kiss like he's furious, and be kissed like it's being wrenched out of him, wants to be kissed hard enough that the past few weeks melt out of him like a dream, and he'll wake up being able to breathe again. 

Adam kisses him wet and sweet, arms around Louis's neck, his dick half-hard against Louis's hip. His hotel room is a shared one, two double beds and a bathroom, a small-ish balcony and a lot of discarded shorts lying about the place. When he slides his hand inside Louis's jeans, pushing them down, his grip is easy and loose, and Louis has about four shots and three beers inside of him, and if Nick was here he'd realise that Louis needed the loo and know that he liked it. That's the secret that the two of them will never talk about, the thing that tore them apart, the part of himself that Louis hates so much that he wishes he didn't get hard thinking about being desperate and letting go and being told when he could give in to it and piss. 

"Oh, yeah," Adam says, pressing open-mouthed kisses to Louis's cheek. "You going to tug me off or what?"

Louis shoves a hand into Adam's shorts, and his dick is long and hard and wide. _Christ_. "You could choke a dozen donkeys on that," he says, almost without thinking. Bits of _Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels_ have found their way inside of his head without his permission. 

"I'd rather come on you," Adam says, breathing heavily into Louis's ear, and Louis hasn't spent that long letting himself think about having sex with men that aren't Nick, but he'd imagined it being sexier than this. 

"Do it, then," Louis says, but it takes Adam ages to come, and Louis even longer. They're breathing into each other's mouths, hot and sticky and sweaty, and this was supposed to fix things, this was supposed to fuck Nick out of him, put an end to this desperation inside of him, this _need_ he doesn't want to ever acknowledge. 

It's made him want Nick more. 

"I've got to go," Louis says afterwards. He tries to pull his jeans up over his dick. It's awkward and rubbish and Adam looks vaguely hurt, but Louis is drunk and so in love it makes his ribs ache, and he doesn't care anymore. He just doesn't fucking care. 

It shouldn't feel like cheating when they weren't ever fucking together. 

~*~

On the way back to the hotel, he stops for three shots of vodka in a bar, and tries to wash away the taste of someone else's mouth from his. 

He needs the loo. 

~*~

It's three in the morning when he sits in the shower cubicle in just his pants, a glass of water by his side, head tipped back against the tiles. He wants to drink and wank and come, and he wants to piss himself and to have it feel like that time with Nick, when all those thousands of miles between them had folded themselves up into tinier and tinier pieces until there was just the two of them in all the world, and Louis had fooled himself into thinking that things might just be okay. 

He pushes his pants down far enough that he can see his maple leaf tattoo, pressing his thumb over it and stretching the leaf out until it distorts. 

There's nothing to say, and no one to say it to even if there was. He drinks the first glass of water, then the second, and then he sits there and waits until there's nothing left to wait for, and he lets go and pisses himself and not for one second does it feel as good as it had when it was Nick talking him through it, the way the shame had made him want it more, the intensity of how much he'd needed that to push him over the edge. 

He sits there for a few minutes more, head tipped back against the wall, and then he turns the shower on and washes it all away, until there's nothing left but the memory, and the need, and a desperate, desperate wish for everything to go back to the way it was. 

~*~

"You didn't stay in last night," Alberto says, after Louis's finally surfaced and he's ordered a sandwich for lunch on the terrace at the hotel. Alberto's got a drink and some kind of odd seafood to eat that looks revolting to Louis, who's hungover and whose fishy appreciation tends to go as far as haddock, and then mostly the battered or breaded variety. 

Louis makes a face and pushes Alberto's plate a little further away. There's a hangover slowly seeping out of his pores. Shame sits heavy in his stomach; Adam and accidents and wanting Nick through it all. "No," he says finally. "Are you going to yell at me?"

"No," Alberto says. "Doesn't mean I think it was smart."

"Nothing I do at the moment's smart. It's just one fuck up after another."

"Louis—"

"Do you think it matters who I love?" Louis says, cutting him off. "Do you think it matters who I have sex with?"

"I think it matters to you," Alberto says. "And maybe the person you're having sex with. Probably fairly important to them, too."

"It matters to more people than just me," Louis says. His heart pounds. He puts his sandwich down. "More than just me and them. I don't want to talk about this anymore."

Alberto looks like he doesn't know whether to push it or not. "Fine," he says in the end, because they're bringing Louis's drink over. It's something non-alcoholic and full of fruit. His throat hurts. "For now."

Louis hasn't missed how Alberto hadn't said _her_. 

He eats his lunch then spends the afternoon curled up on a sun lounger on his private balcony, dozing in the sun. He just needs the world to slow the fuck down and give him a chance to catch up. 

He's so fucking tired of it all. 

~*~

Getting back from Fiji is a gigantic ball ache. They were always going to be cutting it fine, but the plane they're supposed to be catching ends up delayed, and all Louis and Alberto can do is watch the clock tick later and later. It becomes abundantly clear he's going to miss soundcheck at the very least. He feels sick.

It ends up being worse. He misses soundcheck, meet and greet, _and_ the start of the show in Melbourne. He turns up at the venue fifteen minutes after the lads have gone on, and when he gets up on stage, the audience erupts, and Louis plasters on a smile. Niall tugs him into a hug, ruffling his hair. 

"Good to see you, mate." His mouth's pressed to Louis's ear, the screams ringing on and on and on. "You feeling better?"

Louis makes a face even though the adrenaline's racing through him from the panic of being late, the thrill of being on stage that never goes away, the secrets inside of him that are starting to seep out even though he's desperate for them to stay locked up. "A bit, maybe," he lies. "At least I slept."

"Always a win," Niall says, and Louis wraps an arm around Niall's shoulders and pretends he's okay, pretends that it doesn't matter that he likes cock or that he'd just run a thousand miles just to find someone who wanted his. 

After the show, he Googles Nick, ending up on Tumblr and looking at his tag. He keeps thinking about Alberto's carefully worded _them_. Alberto clearly knows, is the thing. He knows that Louis's been having sex with a man, and there's no way that Louis can put him right, and tell him he's not gay, it's just a one-off, without acknowledging that it happened in the first place. 

He's so mixed up, and he misses Nick so much he barely knows what to do with himself. It's so, so stupid. 

It's stupid, and it won't go away, and he doesn't know how to make it stop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [We're not forever, you're not the one](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BLEVRNV4CVQ) \- Tove Lo, _Timebomb_.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to **slowestdive** , **gentleantics** and **helcinda** for reading this part through for me and betaing. Any remaining mistakes are entirely my own. I also want to say thank you to **@amemorymaze** , **@bunchofliars** and **@sadtomatoff** for jumping in last week when I was mired in a pit of my own making, convinced that this entire story was crap, and who read it all through and reassured me I was going in the right direction. Aren't people lovely? And so terribly kind with their time. Thanks, guys.  <3

~*~

**October 2013**

The tour moving to Sydney doesn't help Louis feel any better. He's still on and off vocal rest, and he's bored of inhalations and steam and a sore throat that waxes and wanes according to its mood. He's still not sleeping well either and that probably doesn't help. 

"How are you feeling?" Liam asks, half way through their morning of Sydney press. There's a fifteen minute window that'll probably shrink down to ten. Once upon a time they'd have been off, investigating, doing a recce, trying to cause trouble. All that Louis's managed so far this break is a cup of tea and a cursory check of his phone. Everyone's asleep at home. 

Louis shrugs, shoving his phone back into his pocket. The jeans he's wearing are the wrong size, digging into his thighs and loose at the waist. It wouldn't normally bother him, except he already feels like he's a stranger in his own skin without it actually being the truth. Even though he's been in Australia a couple of weeks, he still feels like a zombie. His jet lag has never made him feel like he's been picked up and dropped in another version of his own life before, like things are happening around him and he's left running to catch up. "Knackered," he says finally.

"Lou—"

"Not the end of the world," Louis tells him, although the whining he's been doing in texts to his mum might suggest differently. It's hard, trying not to let on how badly he's doing to the people he's with; it's like everything is circling closer and closer to the truth, and he can't let that happen. At least if he's moaning to his mum he can pretend it's about being sick, even though it must be obvious to everyone who's with him that it's more than just the flu. He's too worn out to do more than just the cursory protective measures. "But, like, how are you doing? You all right?"

Liam's just lost his grandad. He's clearly doing his best, but it must be hard for him to be here when all of his family are the other side of the world, together when he's by himself. Liam has a proper reason to be breaking apart, but even he's doing better at holding it together than Louis is. 

"I don't know," Liam says, and he tries to smile. It's a little watery, and Louis bumps his shoulder into Liam's, handing over his tea for Liam to share. "I keep thinking I'm never going to see him again, and that's stupid, right? I'm not a kid, but I keep remembering that he's gone and I don't know how to deal with that."

Louis wraps an arm around Liam's shoulders, and messes with his hair. They're setting up for the next interview already. He rubs his nose against Liam's neck. There's always more work. "You're doing all right," he says finally. "You're doing just fine."

"Yeah," Liam says, nodding quickly. "I know. I mean— I know."

"I know," Louis says, and he bumps his head into Liam's, knocking him a bit like a puppy would. "We'll go and cause some trouble in a bit, all right? Go and find a mess to get ourselves in."

"Missed that," Liam says. "Missed you."

"I've been here," Louis says, but it's hardly the truth. He's not anywhere. He's not at Nick's, he's not with his family, he's not at home, but he's not here either. There's nothing tethering him anywhere, and if he lets himself think about it too much, it's really fucking terrifying.

~*~

He's asleep when Liam knocks at his door; it's three in the morning and he's probably managed about half an hour's sleep, but he stumbles grumpily to the door anyway. Liam's sniffly and drunk and it's all Louis can do to pull him into a hug. 

"It'll be okay," he says, one hand in Liam's hair, and Liam hides his face in Louis's neck and cries.

~*~

"That's it," Louis says, dropping down onto the seat next to Liam in the hotel restaurant the following morning. "You and me are going surfing."

Liam looks up from his phone. He's miserably pushing cereal round his bowl. "What?"

"Surfing," Louis says again. "Alberto's found a place. There's a beach we can go to."

Niall rolls his eyes. "It's Sydney. Isn't it all surfing?"

"Shut up, you," Louis says, flicking a bit of cereal across the table. Liam's sad and Louis can't have that. It's bad enough that his own life is collapsing down around him and he can't fucking tell anyone; Liam is the heads to his tails and right now he's missing his family and grieving for his grandad and all of Louis's protective instincts are kicking in. That, and Louis's sick of being ill, and he's even sicker of being in love with Nick, and he's sick to fucking death of Nick getting over him in such a public way. There are more pictures of Nick and Gareth on the internet this morning, sharing iced coffees like it's not fucking autumn back home and probably freezing to go along with it. He's sick to death of analysing pictures of the two of them to see if there's a light in Nick's eyes now that Louis couldn't ever put there. He's going fucking insane with it. He's obsessed and his heart's fucking broken, and the only thing worse than being supplanted is throwing the whole thing away in the first place and not even realising just how huge a fucking mistake he was making until afterwards. 

The thing is, nothing's changed. He shouldn't ever have started any of this. He shouldn't have ever kissed Nick in Caroline Flack's back garden, shouldn't ever have got so frustrated and mad and desperate that he hadn't been able to stop himself from shutting Nick up with his mouth on Nick's. He'd seen Nick everywhere he'd looked that night, Nick driving him mad with that stupid stuffed parrot on his shoulder and his stupid pirate outfit and his stupid friendship with Harry. Louis had _wanted_. He'd wanted so fucking much, and just for a moment, it had overwhelmed him and he'd done the stupidest fucking thing in the world, and given into it, and kissed him. 

He'd done this to himself, and that was the worst part, really. He'd done this to himself. 

"Surfing," Louis says. "Let's just… get out of here for a bit and get a bit of peace and fucking quiet for a bit, all right?"

Just for a moment, there's a spark in Liam's eyes that hadn't been there before. "All right. Tommo, you're on."

~*~

They get twenty minutes at the beach before the paparazzi and the fans arrive. 

Just once, Louis had wanted a break. He'd wanted to shut the world away and have a fucking break. 

"You all right?" he asks Liam, just before they paddle out again. "Because I'm going to fucking punch something if I don't get ten minutes to myself."

Liam makes a face. "Dunno," he says. "It's a bit intense, isn't it?"

Sometimes Louis is fairly sure his insides are on fire, and he has no idea how to put himself out. 

Later, when they've been jostled and hassled and pushed around and they've had to call for extra security just to get them off the beach safely, Louis unlocks his phone without checking the stream of message notifications on his lock screen. He tweets, _It's a beautiful day and we can't leave the hotel. #Papsaretwats_

It's maybe not his finest moment, but just for a second, it feels like he's let a tiny bit of his frustration out into the world, and there's a moment of satisfaction that wasn't there before.

~*~

_That fuckin nobhead nick grimshaw was proper mouthing off about u and ur paps tweet on the radio this morning. WANKER._

Stan's WhatsApp sits on Louis's phone like a tiny, pulsating beacon of a sign that there are new fucking lows for Louis to experience, and that just when he thinks that he's hit rock bottom, there's always fucking further to fall. He ends up trying to find Nick's show online, trying to find a way to hear what Nick said about him on the radio without letting anyone know he's devastated. 

Because he is, that's the thing. He's in love with Nick and Nick's fallen in love with someone else and Louis can't have him. All of Louis is inside out and back to front and he doesn't know how to put himself back together so that any part of him makes sense. He's not who he'd thought he was, and he's not who anyone else thinks he is either. He's so sick and tired of lying about how he's feeling that even trying to hold the bits of him together he needs to just get through this tour is turning out to be too hard to manage. He's falling apart, and Nick snapping on the radio and going off on one about how self-involved Louis is and whining about how good he has it is the final fucking straw. 

He's devastated, and there's no one in the world he can tell.

~*~

It's only later on, when it's the middle of the night and Louis still can't fucking sleep, that he goes back to check his messages from while he and Liam were out surfing. 

There's one from Nick, sent in the middle of the night UK time, about four hours before Louis's pissed off tweet. It just says, _so we should probably talk_. 

Louis hadn't seen it. He'd missed it, and Nick must have thought he'd been ignoring him, and then he'd gone off on one on the radio. 

There's no point replying now. There's no point doing anything. 

It takes him a long time to cry himself to sleep.

~*~

Louis wakes up exhausted and pissed off and frustrated enough that he's fairly sure he's going to fucking snap. He's slept badly and his head hurts and his stupid sore throat won't properly go the fuck away, and he's in love with someone who's pissed off enough at him to make fun of him on a national radio show. His hurt has seeped out enough that it sits on his skin like a heavy cloak he can't fucking take off. 

"What's up with you?" Liam asks, once Louis finally surfaces from the shower and his room so that they can leave for the airport. They're off to Hamilton Island for a couple of days' break.

"Nothing," Louis says, but he gets himself a cup of tea from the stand and goes to fuck around on his phone in the corner instead of joining in with Liam, who's hanging out with a couple of the others who are going away with them and Zayn. Harry's nowhere to be seen, but that's hardly surprising considering that Harry's always off somewhere with someone or other. His dad and Gemma are over, and normally Louis likes having family on tour with them, but all it does now is make him wish for his own. He's constantly running to catch up at the moment, bouncing off his friends like a fucking snooker ball, never finding anywhere that feels like it's his. He's so fucking tired of feeling like this, like he doesn't fit into his own life, like he can't find himself for the lies and the secrets and the endless fucking hours where he can't fucking sleep. 

It's another while before Zayn surfaces, sleepily coming over with a coffee and a packet of cigarettes. "You want one?" he asks, nodding towards his Marlboro.

"Could do," Louis says. Except there's nowhere to go as per fucking usual, since the hotel's surrounded and it's all they can do to just keep people away. He still can't get his head around the fact that Liam had had his pants nicked; on the plus side it's funny that Liam had his pubes out on camera, but the lack of fucking privacy that this tour has afforded is off the fucking scale. That's why they're getting away, a couple of days hiding out on an island where they're not supposed to be, breathing space in an unrelenting schedule. And they get to go snorkelling. "Better not, I suppose. Stupid throat." 

"You feeling any better?" Zayn tucks a cigarette behind his ear, leaning in to steal a slurp of Louis's tea.

"A bit. Not really," Louis says, and normally he's possessive about his tea, but today feels relentless already, like there's something thrumming underneath his skin, stealing any hope of everything being okay. "You get your own coffee, stop stealing my tea."

"Fine," Zayn rolls his eyes. "Who pissed in your cornflakes?"

 _I did_ , Louis thinks, watching Zayn go to get his own hot drink whilst they wait for the cars. _I pissed my whole fucking heart up the wall_. 

He sleeps for a bit on the plane, and then again by the pool later on. He wakes up with his throat feeling better but everything else a hundred times worse; he's uncomfortable in his own skin, wanting to tear it all off just so that Nick isn't always the first thing he thinks about. He's so fucking sick of this. He hates it.

~*~

He's a few beers down later that evening, after eating dinner with Liam and Zayn and Paddy out on the terrace by the bar. Liam's new underwater camera shows picture after picture of the turtles they saw earlier, snorkelling out by Catseye Beach, and he's cycling through them over and over on his iPad. Liam fucking loves turtles, but it reminds Louis of _Finding Nemo_. 

It's not his fault he feels like the one who's lost this time. 

"Look," Liam says, shoving his iPad towards Louis. "Isn't this one amazing?"

It's Louis, a turtle in between him and Liam taking the picture, its little feet flapping. 

"Yeah," Louis says, taking another gulp of his beer. "Proper cool."

"Louis—"

"It's a cool picture, all right? What else do you want me to say?"

Liam looks at him for a moment. "Nothing," he says. He stands up to go to the bar, but gets waylaid by a waiter before he gets there, the guy swooping in to make sure that they're looked after.

Guilt settles over Louis's skin, but that just makes him angrier. 

"Stop being such a dick," Zayn says, nudging him with his foot. "That picture's ace. What's up with you, anyway?"

"Nothing." He shrugs, but Zayn's persistent when he wants to be, and Liam's got that little hurt furrow between his eyebrows as he comes back over and turns towards Paddy and away from Louis. He lowers his voice. "Nick Grimshaw went off on me on the radio yesterday. I dunno. He's a cunt."

"What's he say?"

"Don't know," Louis says, even though he's heard it now, listening to the section five or six times. "Wanking on about how I'm a spoiled dickhead, I don't know."

"You bothered by it?"

Louis shrugs. _Bothered_ doesn't go anywhere near what it feels like. Devastation curls in his belly, like the walls inside of him are starting to crumble and he can't make it stop. "Yeah."

Zayn nods, but doesn't say anything. 

"He's a twat." Louis says finally. "He's a proper twat."

"Yeah," Zayn says. "Cunt."

Zayn has his back. It's a relief after so long being out on his own. He wants this, wants this feeling that he's been missing for so long, this tangible connection to someone else. He wants to feel a part of something. Wants to stop feeling so fucking alone.

"I don't even know why Harry's mates with him," Louis says, because he wants to do what Nick did to him, wants to scoop everything up that's inside of him and angry, and push it out where other people can listen and join in, where Zayn will back him up because Zayn always backs him up. "Like he can go on at me because I'm fucking snapping at the fucking paps, right? When he goes out fucking looking for them, him and his stupid mates, they want to be famous, like famous is something cool, right? When he's just a cunt."

"Lou—"

"I hate him," Louis says, too loud. Liam's looking over now, brow still furrowed. "I hate him." He gets his phone out of his pocket like he's not vaguely drunk and completely broken hearted and utterly lost. 

"What are you doing?" Liam asks, from down the other end of the table. 

"Nothing," Louis says, loading up Twitter. "Just something I should have done ages ago."

"Louis, come on—"

Louis types out _@grimmers < @chrisdjmoyles_, and presses send. "He's a dick," Louis says, and he wants it to be the truth, because Nick called him a complainy pop star, and because he doesn't want Louis the way that Louis wants him, and because Nick's moved on and Louis just can't, and everything fucking hurts and he doesn't know what the fuck he's supposed to do to move on with his life. "He's such a fucking dick."

"Mate," Zayn says, reaching over for Louis's phone. "What've you done?"

"He's a cunt," Louis snaps, and Liam looks disappointed. "Don't look like that at me." His chest feels tight. "Fuck, I'm going back to my room."

"Louis—" Liam says, but it's half-hearted. They've been together as a band for too long to not know how to deal with each other in bad moods, and Louis doesn't want any of them. He just wants Nick, and he can't fucking have him. 

He can't fucking have him.

~*~

There's a tweet from Nick when Louis gets out of the shower a while later, and it's clearly meant for him. 

_Ooh Stacey got out the wrong side of bed this morning_ , it says, followed by the nail varnish emoji. 

If Louis could box up every single thing he's ever felt for Nick, package it up and seal it so that none of it could ever, ever get out, then he'd do it. He'd take one of the boats out of the bay and sail for hours, then drop it over the side so that it sank right to the bottom of the fucking ocean, and then he'd get to live the rest of his life without having to feel anything like this, ever again. 

He ends up drinking vodka straight from the mini bar until Zayn comes to check on him, until he lies and convinces Zayn that he's sick of being ill and needs to get wasted, until Zayn tweets on Louis's behalf and it feels like he's not alone for the first time in fucking weeks. 

It hurts, is the thing. It hurts.

~*~

Nick doesn't get in contact after his tweet. It's not that Louis expected him to, and it's not that Louis had invited him to. It's just that goading has, well… it's worked in the past, and there's always a possibility that pushing him might have worked, that Nick might have rung him and let off steam and it might have been okay. In some terrible, painful way, it might have been okay. 

Nick's never pushed back like that before, never dismissed him so publicly or so painfully, and it feels like things have shifted in a way that Louis neither wanted nor expected. He's so frustrated. He wants so much, and it burns up inside of him like a volcano waiting to explode. 

At least with volcanoes people put safety precautions in place. There are warnings. Louis could go off at any time, and he knows it, and everyone he loves is in the firing line. He doesn't want to hurt anyone, but at the same time, he's hurting so much that all he can do is desperately want someone else to feel the way that he does, to have someone recognise what this feels like so he's not so fucking alone. He hates being alone. It's eating away at him, tearing at his skin, destroying him from the inside out. 

He didn't know love was supposed to feel like this. 

In the end, it's not Nick that pushes him over the edge, it's Zayn. It's a stupid tweet, a stupid, happy, in-love tweet about Perrie, or Zayn's mum, or _someone_ , it's not about him and Nick. It just says, _sometimes just the sound of someone's voice can make you happy :D x_ , and the walls inside of Louis that have stayed so strong for so long start to crumble in earnest. He feels them start to crash down, the weight of what he feels for Nick starting to smother him. He stares at his phone and the world shifts around him, realigning and reforming in some new, unfamiliar way. 

This can't carry on; it can't. He needs to move on, needs to put it to rest, needs to not be so fucking alone anymore. Nick has Gareth; Louis had whatshisface in Fiji, Adam. He needs someone else. 

The world's different when he looks up. 

"I fancy a tattoo," Zayn says. "You want in?"

He wants something to make him forget. Something to make him feel. 

He gets a spider's web tattooed on his leg. The guy - Pete - tells him it means _struggle_. The Pacman on his arm, forever in a race with a ghost, speaks for itself. 

It hurts all the way through that evening's show. Good. 

He waits until the middle of the night, until he's drunk and by himself and refusing to give in with how much he's missing someone he never even had before he texts Nick, _you're such a fucking dick_.

~*~

He's still awake at five am when Nick texts back: _you're the one that didn't want me, dickhead. You're the one that left._

Most of the vodka's gone. His spider web hurts. His gaze swims. Nick's not his anymore. He never was. Nick's moved on and there's no way Louis's letting on that Nick's left him a different person to who he was before. He texts back, _There was nothing to leave, fuckhead. We weren't boyfriends._

It's a while later when he gets another reply. It says, _we were something_.

Louis knows, is the thing. He knows. The vodka's given him enough clarity to know that they really were. The way they'd kept coming back to each other, the way that they hadn't been able to keep their hands off each other. 

The way that Louis had wanted Nick so much that he still doesn't know how to fit it all together in his head. 

The way he'd fallen in love with him. 

He doesn't reply, but a while later another text comes through from Nick anyway; _Pretty sure the way I kept making you come meant we were something. Wanker._

They'd been something. The two of them together, they'd been something, and Louis had fucked it up so badly he's still not sure he knows how to get through to the other side. 

He doesn't send anything back, and he doesn't fall asleep until the vodka's gone and the sun's high in the sky.

~*~

Louis manages three hours sleep before he has to leave for the venue. He's hungover and his brain is trying to seep out of his skull. He throws up before he makes it out of the hotel room, crying as he retches, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and leaning against the wall in the shower cubicle as he tries to bring himself back to life. 

He makes it to the venue having necked paracetamol and a bottle of water he manages not to throw up. When he asks for Lucozade someone brings him Powerade instead. His head throbs. He keeps going over and over it in his head: _you're the one that didn't want me, dickhead. You're the one that left_. 

Like Nick had wanted him, and Louis hadn't wanted him back. 

His hands keep shaking, and he's not sure how much of it is down to the hangover and how much of it is because he can't fucking cope with being so in love with Nick it hurts. "I did want him," he says out loud. Alberto's standing by the door, keeping the room just for him. 

"You all right?" Alberto asks, careful. "You want anything?"

Louis's going to cry. He shakes his head, fiercely trying to swallow it all back down. "I need to…" his voice cracks. "I just want to be on my own for a bit. Just for a bit. I just need— I don't know what I need. I want to be on my own."

Alberto watches him for a moment. "I'll be outside in the hall. Shout if you need anything. Otherwise I'll keep the others away for a while."

Louis just nods. The door closes and all he can do is keep on staring down at his phone, at Nick's messages, at the tiny thread of contact they've had after months of almost silence. He wants to take a hold of the thread, keep it wrapped around his wrist, reel Nick in until he's his, and not Gareth's or any other guy that isn't Louis. Until Nick's here, until he's Louis's, until the only person that Nick is kissing is Louis, and everyone else is a faint memory. 

He's pressing call even before he can tell himself it's the worst idea ever. He has no fucking idea what time it is back at home, but the phone rings out and Louis doesn't hang up. His hand's shaking and he feels sick, but he can't stop. He can't. 

Nick answers without a _hello_. Anything Louis wants to say is trapped in his throat. 

"What do you want?" Nick says. 

"For you not to kiss other people." He doesn't mean to say it. He doesn't mean to say anything, but he has to say something because his chest is so tight he might die from it. 

"Just fuck off. The only way you can ask me to do that is if we're fucking going out, and we're not, so fuck the fuck off, all right?" Nick sounds like he's just woken up, like he's bad tempered and angry at Louis and no matter how much Louis wants to keep him, he lost him so long ago that even trying seems pointless. 

He doesn't even know what he's saying. "What if we were, though?"

There's a pause, just the sound of Nick's breath down the phone. "No can do. I'm no one's dirty little secret, no matter how fucking dirty we were in private." Louis can hear Puppy, a sleepy yip and a whine in the background. He has no idea what time it is, but it's probably still night at home. "Do you get it yet? I'm sick of this. I wanted you and you didn't want me back, and yet we're still fucking going over the same stuff."

 _I wanted you_. "But what if you weren't my secret anymore?" His voice shakes. His hand shakes. He doesn't know what he's offering. Right now he'd offer anything, but he doesn't even know exactly what it is he wants. He just knows he wants Nick, and Nick doesn't want him. 

Nick hisses in a breath. "But I still am," he says finally. "You're still not going to tell anyone about us, are you? It's still going to be this fucking awful secret that's fucking killing me." His voice catches, and it hurts, hearing that, it hurts. "It's not fair, Louis. It's not fair."

He wants to tear his heart from his chest. "I'm sorry," he manages, and he is. He's so fucking sorry. It's not enough. "I'm so sorry."

"I've got to go back to bed. Just drink some fucking water. Stop getting drunk just so you can phone me, all right? You can phone me sober, you know. It won't kill you."

Louis isn't drunk. He's hungover and in love and it hurts, but he's not drunk. He's just terrified. He's been so scared for so long that it's overtaken everything else until there's nothing else left. "You fucking terrify me," he says finally, because it's the truth and he's got nothing else left to hide. 

Nick sounds surprised. "I'm not scary," he says, and Louis almost laughs at that, because he's so used to terror that he carries it round with him wherever he goes. 

"God," Louis says, because he's going to give in and let it all out, and he can't bear for Nick to hear that. "You have no fucking idea at all, do you?" 

He hangs up even as he's swallowing down a sob.

~*~

The show is an exercise in remembering how to breathe. Liam stays close, hanging off him, Niall coming over to check on him too, but Louis pulls out everything he's got to cover up the fact that inside he's tearing himself apart. 

"You all right?" Alberto asks after the show, once they're all piled into the cars to take them back to the hotel. 

"Course," Louis says. He's lying. He's sitting on his hands so that no one can see that they're shaking. "Does anyone want to go out? I want to go out."

He's in the car with Niall, who's on his phone, and who's got Louis's flu. "I'm going to my bed," Niall says. "But first I'm going to have the longest, hottest shower I can manage, and it's going to be a fucking dream."

"I'm going out," Louis says. His thigh's shaking. "I'm going to go out right the fuck now."

"Drop me off first," Niall says. "And you might want to shower if you want to go anywhere near a girl tonight, you fucking stink."

Louis doesn't want a girl. He wants a guy. He wants someone with a cock who'll fuck Nick out of him. He wants to drink until he fucking forgets. 

Maybe there isn't enough alcohol in the world for that.

~*~

The club is loud and dark and stupidly, hugely busy. It's already after midnight and Louis's been necking vodka since he got back to his hotel room; Alberto's around somewhere but Louis doesn't want his knowing glances and his careful security. He's fucked his heart up against the wall and right now he doesn't give a shit. 

He wants to find someone to take home, someone who doesn't look like Nick, someone who'll hold him up against the wall and make him feel like he's so fucking desperate to feel, someone who'll push him around and hold him afterwards. Someone who isn't Nick. 

He finds someone in the corridor by the toilets, someone who looks like they play rugby, someone who's drunk and handsy and has a rainbow on his shirt, someone who makes a grab for Louis's crotch when Louis stumbles over his feet and trips into him. 

"No," Alberto says, coming from nowhere to push the guy away. 

"Your boyfriend's fierce," the guy says, but he's wasted, and Louis doesn't want his crotch grabbed, but he does want something. He really wants _something_. 

"Not my boyfriend," Louis says sulkily, but he's fairly sure he's going to throw up. 

"Come on," Alberto says, one hand to his shoulder. "Let's get you back home."

In the end, Louis feels too rotten to say no.

~*~

Alberto deposits him at his hotel room door and Louis pretends to be complacent about it, but he's not. He stands in his bathroom staring into the mirror, watching the way his face distorts after he's looked at himself for too long. He's drunk and stupid and desperate and even more of an idiot than he's ever given himself credit for before now. 

He gives it five minute before he darts back out the door and down the hall towards the lift. The hall's empty but he runs anyway, and whether he's running from or to something he has no fucking idea. His room's stifling him. The tour's stifling him. His fucking brain is taking him apart, one piece at a time, and he can't hold himself together anymore. He hasn't got it in him. 

There's nothing fucking left. 

The bar's still open when he gets downstairs, and he orders a beer even though it'll make him want to piss. He ends up propping up the bar, running his fingertips through the condensation on the side of the glass, tired and drunk and having to remind himself to keep focusing back on his drink every time double vision threatens. 

He doesn't call anyone and he doesn't slide off his chair and he doesn't cry, so he's counting it as a win. He still feels sick. 

There's a guy over in the corner who's by himself, too. He's in a shirt with his tie loosened, his jacket next to him, suit trousers stretched tight across his thighs. He's drinking by himself at two in the morning, so chances are he'll have some heartache to share even if he doesn't want to push Louis up against the wall. 

He keeps staring at Louis's arse. Maybe he'll want to push Louis up against the wall. 

Louis finishes up his pint, orders a shot of whisky, and then another two pints. He downs the shot and gets the barman to carry over the beers to the table where the guy is in the corner. 

"It's the middle of the night," Louis tells him, dropping down on the chair opposite the guy after the barman's put the beers down. Fuck, he's drunk. "I'm fucking wasted, and this place is empty."

The guy looks a little red-cheeked. His alcohol shows on his face, his flush going all the way down to his neck. "I'm not company," he says, and he's shredded a napkin into pieces on the table in front of him. 

Louis pushes a beer towards him. "Neither am I," he says, and his words slur into each other, jostling for space as he tries to make sense. "That's the point, innit?"

"You're English," the guy says. "Fucking English."

Louis snorts. "Where you from, then?" 

"Tasmania," he says, and Louis could fucking laugh at that, remembering Adam-from-Tasmania, but he doesn't. He'll take it as a sign instead. 

"I slept with a guy from Tasmania."

The guy glances at him. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Louis says, and he's going red, he knows he is, but it doesn't matter. He's getting through this pint pretty quickly, too. "It was pretty shit."

"You want me to apologise for the whole island?"

Louis shrugs. He doesn't say anything. He downs half his pint instead, and he's so drunk he's practically seeing double. It's the only reason he does what he does. He puts his hand on the guy's thigh. The muscles tremble beneath his touch. "You can," he says. "If you want."

"I'm not gay," the guy says, but his foot's touching Louis's ankle, and he's not pushing away Louis's hand. His fingers brush Louis's palm instead. 

Louis does laugh at that. "Me neither," he says. "I just like cock."

"No one gets it when I say I'm not gay."

"I do," Louis says. "You want to come upstairs?"

The guy nods, and Louis finishes his pint and trips over his feet as he tries to stand up. He's so drunk that he has to hold onto the back of the chair. The guy has to hold him up as they head for the lift, and somewhere in the back of his head there's a fucking warning bell going off, a _what the fucking fuck are you doing_ , a red flashing light that's trying to tell him _no_. The guy could be anyone, there could be anyone around watching, even now when it's the middle of the night and the place is deserted. 

Louis doesn't care. When the lift doors close, he trips into him, pressing a wet kiss to his mouth. He doesn't even know his name. 

"What floor?" the guy asks. 

"Six," Louis says after a moment of trying to remember. He thinks they're on six. He'd written it on his hand earlier, but it's mostly rubbed off. The guy presses a button and then tries to shove his tongue into Louis's mouth. He's not Nick and Louis doesn't want him to be, but Louis doesn't fucking want to think about Nick Grimshaw now. He doesn't want to think about him ever again. 

The lift doors open and they stumble out, but Louis has seen too many hotels in his time. He has no fucking idea which way it is to his room. He doesn't even know if he remembered his room key when he left. He doesn't know which way to go. He's starting to feel like he might just throw up. 

Louis takes a guess and goes left. He vaguely remembers running this way a while ago. The guy is behind him with his arm around Louis's waist, and he's kissing Louis's neck. It makes Louis shiver. 

"Ages since I had a blowie," the guy tells him, turning him around and bumping Louis into the wall. He goes to kiss him again, mouthing at his neck, and Louis pulls him in and presses his mouth to his. 

Behind him, the lift doors ping open again. 

The guy stumbles back, shoving Louis away, but it doesn't matter. It's too late. Louis can see over the guy's shoulder to where Harry's standing just on this side of the lift doors, to where Harry's watching them both, to where Harry's just seen Louis kissing a guy. 

It's not that the bottom drops out of Louis's world; it's been gone for so long that Louis's been tight-roping his way through everything for a long time, but even that's trembling beneath him now. 

"Jesus," the guy says. He's backing away, ignoring Louis in favour of Harry. "You're that fucking guy from that band. I don't know what you thought you saw, but I'm not fucking gay, you know. He came on to me. I didn't even want it."

"Fuck off," Harry says, and Harry doesn't say that. Harry doesn't do that to strangers. He's coming over to Louis, and Louis's shaking. He can't make himself stop. "Go on, get lost."

Louis's legs won't keep him up anymore. "I'm not gay," he says, and it comes out like a whisper. "Harry, I'm not gay."

Harry doesn't say anything to that. He's not looking at Louis, he's looking at the guy instead, all the while holding a tub of ice cream and a scarf that looks like it belongs to Lux. It's too tiny for any of them. 

The guy goes, looking back at Harry even as he's trying to leave. Louis watches him practically run into the lift, stabbing the button repeatedly even though the doors are already closing. Louis doesn't move until the doors ping shut and it's just the two of them in the hallway, Louis and Harry, and Louis's world is collapsing in on itself and he's going to be sick. 

"Feel sick," he says, as Harry turns to face him, finally. "Think I'm going to throw up."

"Come on," Harry says, and he's dumping the ice cream on the side and reaching for Louis instead, arms under Louis's pits as Louis stumbles into him. 

"Not gay," Louis says, and he's going to cry. It's going to burst out of him without his permission, this sob that's caught in his throat. "'S'not my fault." 

"It's all right," Harry says, and Louis must have been taking that guy in the right direction, because five seconds later Harry's fucking with his key card and a key slot and they're stumbling inside a room that's the mirror image of Louis's. "In here, babe. Come on. Bathroom."

Louis's retching even before he makes it to the toilet, dropping down onto his knees with a painful, desperate crack. He vomits into the bowl, already starting to cry. It's the vodka and the beer and the whisky and the desperation and the terror; sweat drenches his skin and his shirt. He gets sick down his front.

Harry kneels behind him even though Harry hates people being sick, and rubs his back. "It's okay," he keeps saying, even though it isn't, it really isn't. "It's okay."

"It's not," Louis manages. Being sick is the worst. He's the worst. He's disgusting. He throws up again, and Harry doesn't push him away even though he's vomited on his t-shirt. 

"What were you doing?" Harry asks. 

Louis rests his elbows on the toilet seat, and rubs his sweaty forehead against the back of his hands. "Forgetting," he says finally, spitting into the bowl. "Wanted to forget." He's still slurring. Even throwing up isn't enough to get rid of the alcohol. 

"Forget what?" There's a glass of water shoved into his hand, but Louis doesn't want to drink. He's probably going to be sick again. He keeps having to spit. 

"He doesn't want me," Louis says. "Nick doesn't want me anymore."

Some of his water's spilled onto his leg. Harry's hand on his back has stilled.

"Gonna heave again." Louis retches, but nothing comes up. 

"Was that Nick? Out there?"

Louis shakes his head. "Stupid," he says. "Nick's not here. Nick at home. My Nick. Your Nick." He spits again. "Stupid," he says softly, forehead pressed to his wrist. "Stupid, stupid, stupid."

There's a pause. "My Nick?" Harry says carefully, and slowly. "Like, Grimmy, Nick."

"Not my Nick anymore," Louis says. He closes his eyes. He could sleep here. Everything's ruined. He's broken everything. "Got Gareth now. Doesn't want me."

"Oh god," Harry says. "Since when?"

"No," Louis says. "No, no. Not a thing. Just a thing." He twists a little, so that he can rest his cheek on his hands and try to look at Harry. He sees stars as he moves; throwing up always did make him light headed. "He was a pirate."

Harry doesn't say anything to that. He's frowning, his brow furrowed, and Louis made that happen. Louis put that expression on his face. 

"Pirate," Louis says again, trying to sit up. He fails, resting his cheek against his hands again, closing his eyes. "He had a parrot but I stole it. Still got it."

"You and - you and Grimmy were a thing? And he was a pirate? Like… like at that party at Caroline's? That was months ago. That was by my birthday." 

They weren't a thing. They'd never said they were a thing, except they were. They had been. Nick had texted him that, and Louis loved him, and he missed Nick so much it hurt. 

"Were you a thing?" Harry asks again. 

Louis doesn't open his eyes. "Yes," he says softly, and he waits for his world to cave in. 

He hears rather than sees Harry stand up and leave, then hears him in the bedroom a moment later. Louis doesn't move, hugging the toilet bowl. He hates being sick in hotels. He hates it on the bus, too, but at least it feels like it's theirs. He misses the fucking bus. He spits into the toilet bowl again, his heart pounding. 

He doesn't know what to do. He's ruined everything, and Harry's gone. 

"I'm not gay," Louis says again, even though there's no one there to listen to it. He scrubs at his eyes with the back of his hand, but his hands are shaking and his eyes are wet. It twists inside of him, this fear that's become a part of him for so long, catching at his insides and making it hard to breathe. It makes it even harder for him to try and stumble to his feet, leaning on the bathroom counter and trying not to look at his reflection. He runs the cold tap instead, splashing water onto his face and finding a glass wrapped in plastic to fill with water so he can swill his mouth out. He's drunk and so fucking scared he can barely keep a hand on the glass; he puts it down on the counter before he drops it, waiting for his vision to settle. He's lightheaded and dizzy, but a lot of that's the adrenaline. 

His secret's out, and there's nothing he can do to pull it back again. 

The tap's still running, and he scoops up water to drink from his cupped hands before turning it off and reaching for a towel. 

It's only without the noise of the running water that he can hear Harry talking in the other room. "I don't understand," Harry's saying. "Why did you keep it a secret?"

Oh no. Oh no. Please no. His breath catches, and he has to wipe his eyes again. Please, please, no. 

"Nick, he's my best friend." 

Panic burns in Louis's chest. It feels like he's been running a race, all his limbs trembling, but it isn't with exertion. It's his world falling down around him, it's Harry on the phone to Nick, it's the end of everything. He makes a desperate, choked off attempt at hiding his sob as he stumbles out of the bathroom, but it doesn't work. Harry's over by the window, but he turns around at Louis starting to cry. He watches Louis try to hold himself up against the wall but not be able to, Louis sliding down until he's sitting on the floor with his knees up to his chest, hands trembling as he gives in and cries. 

"It's the middle of the fucking night here, Nick." Harry's still looking at him but Louis can't stop crying. He can't breathe and he's got nothing to wipe his nose on but the back of his hand and he's not entirely sure he isn't going to throw up all over the place again. "I've got to go and talk to him again, all right? He's crying."

Louis tries to shake his head at that. He doesn't want Nick to know he's not all right. He doesn't want Nick to know anything. Nick doesn't want him, he doesn't need to know that Louis's nothing without him. That Louis can't even move on without fucking it all up. That Louis's fucking pissed out of his skull and has been sick all down himself and that he has no idea how to make any of it better, not one little tiny bit of it. 

There's a bin by the side of the desk, and Louis pulls it over so he can throw up in it, vomit spattering up the side of the bin liner. 

This is it, this is the lowest point. He keeps thinking he's reached the bottom, but there's always further down to go. 

Harry's rubbing his back again after a minute, crouching down beside him. "Come on, let it all out. It's okay."

It's not okay, and it'll never be okay, but Louis tries to appreciate the sentiment. He's sick one more time, and then he sits back, leaning his head back against the wall, eyes closed. It feels like he's got hiccups; he can't get a handle on his breathing. He might explode. Just trying to hold all of the pieces of him together is too much, there's too many broken bits to keep a handle on. "Harry—" 

"Just breathe, all right? Just breathe."

"Can't," Louis says, breath hitching. "Can't breathe."

"Calm down," Harry tells him, one hand to his shoulder. 

"I'm not gay," Louis says. "I'm not."

"Fine," Harry says, but he doesn't sound like he believes him. Louis needs him to believe him. He grabs Harry's wrist. It's all going wrong. 

"No. Just Nick." He doesn't want to think about that guy tonight. His breath feels all caught in his throat. Maybe there isn't enough air in the room. "He dun't want me anymore."

"Don't get upset. Come on, you're scaring me."

Louis doesn't want to scare anyone, but he's terrifying himself. He's never been this scared. He can't fucking breathe. He's seeing stars. He puts his head between his knees. 

"Fuck," Harry says, after a minute. He sounds a long way away. He's fucking with his phone again. 

"Not Nick," Louis manages. "Don't call Nick."

"I'm not."

"Please," Louis begs, hand to his wrist again. His breath's coming in wheezes. 

"I'm calling Alberto." 

Louis squeezes his eyes shut. He doesn't know if he's still crying. It doesn't matter. "Can't breathe."

"I know. Just, like, I don't know. Breathe with me. Slowly."

Louis tries, but he can't. He can't hear Harry's breaths and he can't open his eyes and he can't slow it down. He squeezes his hands into fists. 

The door goes a minute later, and then Harry's moving out of the way, and Alberto's kneeling down next to him. 

"Lou. Louis."

"Hurts."

"I know, buddy. Take a deep breath. Hold it in."

"Can't."

"You can. Do it with me. Deep breath. Hold it… let it out. Another one. You're having a panic attack, Louis. You're fine."

"Gonna die."

"You're not. You're going to be fine. Tell yourself that. Deep breath in through the nose. Hold it."

Alberto keeps saying the same things, over and over again, and he's got one hand on Louis's shoulder and another on his stomach. 

"Breathe out against my hand," he says, "and in. That's right. Come on, Louis. You're going to be fine."

It feels like a long time before Louis can nod. He leans forward, head between his knees. It's ten minutes at least. 

"What happened?" Alberto asks, and he's not talking to Louis. Harry glances over at him.

Louis screws his eyes shut. "I'm not gay." He still feels like he can't breathe, and like his body is about to explode, but he doesn't feel like he's dying anymore.

"No one's saying you are," Alberto says. 

"It's just Nick," Louis says. 

Alberto doesn't even pause. "I know," he says. "You're okay, bud." 

Louis doesn't nod. He can't look up and see the silent conversation Harry and Alberto have to be having. He can't. 

"Let's get you back to your room, all right? Where I left you an hour ago." He turns back to Harry. "We'll get someone up here to clean up the mess, if you'll stay with him. Get him cleaned up."

Louis doesn't really care what happens to him now. He likes to put his cock near other boys. He's spent a lifetime hiding it but he can't stop the way it's seeping out of him now, like there's so much of it inside of him it's overflowing and he can't fucking keep it inside. 

He's helped to his feet, and he leans his head against the wall for a moment until he stops being so lightheaded and dizzy. Then he's half-carried across the hall to his room, and Harry comes in with him, Alberto disappearing somewhere else to arrange for Harry's room to be cleaned up. 

Louis sinks down onto the end of his bed and puts his face in his hands. He can't fucking look at Harry. He can't. 

"Since February," Harry says, after a few minutes. 

He nods after a while. He's trying to do what Alberto told him, and breathe in slowly, and out slowly. 

"But not anymore." Harry hands him a couple of ibuprofen and a bottle of water. The lid's loosened already, which is good because Louis's hands are shaking. 

Louis knocks them back, then sips at the water. He has no desire to throw up again. He shakes his head. "He's got Gareth." That arsehole Gareth, who does everything Louis can't do, including being with him in public and holding his hand and kissing him on the cheek at awards ceremonies. 

Harry sits down on the bed next to him, and rubs his back. It feels weird and oddly stilted, because for so long Louis has felt like an island, disconnected and alone, and none of that's gone away just because someone else knows. 

"Who was that guy before?"

Louis shrugs. "Don't know," he says. "Wasn't Nick. Thought it might help." He's shivering. He can't stop. He's got the shakes. Even his teeth are chattering despite the fact the room's warm. 

"You've got sick on you," Harry says finally. "Let's get you cleaned up."

Harry ends up running him a bath, which is weird, because Louis's never really sat in a hotel bath before. He's not that keen on them in the grand scheme of things, and half a bath of warm water with bubbles made from squeezing the whole of a bottle of hotel shower gel in is weird enough anyway, without it being because Louis might fall over in the shower. He sits on the closed toilet seat while the water runs, still shaking, arms wrapped around himself, and refuses to talk to Harry. 

It's sort of okay because Harry isn't really talking to him, either. 

"I'll leave the door open," Harry says finally. "Shout if you need anything. I'll make you a cup of tea."

Louis nods. It still feels like his breathing's all wrong, like he's in-between hiccups and everything's upside down. His hands tremble as he pulls off his t-shirt and kicks off his trainers, pushing down his jeans. He thinks he might fall as he gets into the bath, but he doesn't. He sits instead, knees up to his chest, and rests his cheek against his knees. 

Harry brings him a cup of tea after a few minutes. He looks weirdly distant. "It's got sugar in it," he says. "You probably need it."

"Don't hate me," Louis says suddenly. It's the thing inside of him he's been desperate to say for ages. "Please, please don't hate me. I didn't mean to kiss them."

Harry's expression changes then, and he drops to his knees by the side of the bath, wrapping his arms around Louis's shoulders even though he's mostly damp. "I couldn't hate you," he says, and Louis doesn't know how much of that is a lie, but he wants it to be true. He really, really wants it to be true. 

"Sorry," Louis says. "I'm so sorry."

"Drink your tea," Harry says. "I'll be in the bedroom when you're done."

Sugar in tea is an abomination, but it helps a bit. He waits in the bathroom until Alberto comes to let Harry know that his room's been cleaned up, and when he knocks on the bathroom door, Louis tells him he's fine through the closed door. He says thank you when Alberto tells him to call if he needs anything, and then the door to his room is closing again, and it's just Harry in the bedroom and Louis in the bathroom and there's silence between them. 

The panic inside of him nestles down deeper, like a hamster in a nest, and Louis just wants it to stop. He wants it to fucking stop. He rests his cheek against his knees, and listens to the sounds of Harry moving around, the quiet burr of the TV in the background.

He gets out of the bath when he hears Harry talking on the phone again. He's not man enough to not need to know what's been said, and to who. Maybe Harry's telling the world he caught Louis kissing a man; maybe he's telling the world about Louis and Nick. He wraps himself in a towel and goes out into the bedroom. 

Harry's in the chair by the window, one foot up on the little coffee table with the magazines about the area artfully arranged. Louis had dumped some of his shit on top of it, but Harry's moved that to one side. He's got his phone cradled in-between his ear and his shoulder. 

"Nick," Harry says softly, his eyes on Louis. 

Louis sits down on the bed, towel around his waist, and watches him. Watches him talk to the person Louis's in love with, to the man that Louis's fallen for but can't have. 

"Nick," Harry says again, after a minute. "Okay. I didn't—" he stops. "I have to go," he says, and Louis really has no idea what they've been talking about. He'd missed the beginning of the conversation. 

When Harry hangs up, he puts his phone down on the coffee table. 

"How are you feeling? You going to be sick again?"

Louis shakes his head. "Was that Nick?"

Harry nods. "Yeah." He looks a bit shell-shocked. 

"What did he say?"

"How are you feeling?"

That's not an answer. Louis's stomach rolls. "Like everything's gone to shit. Like you hate me."

"I don't hate you," Harry says. "I'm like— I don't know what to think anymore, but, god, I don't hate you."

Louis doesn't cry. He sniffs, eyes wet, but he looks the other way so that Harry won't see. 

"How'd it happen?"

"Dunno." Louis shrugs. "I just, like. I don't know. I wanted it, and it happened, and it kept happening."

"Then it stopped."

Louis nods. He can't discreetly wipe his eyes so he gives in and wipes them on his towel. Harry's seen his dick before, he can cope again.

"Why'd it stop?"

"It just did. It shouldn't ever have started."

"Did you love him?"

Louis can't answer that. He can't. The truth is trapped inside of him, painful and isolating and truly the biggest secret he has. He shrugs again, looking away. 

"He loved you," Harry says. "He loved you and I didn't even know."

"He didn't."

"Are you going to throw up again?"

"No." Louis shakes his head. There's a ringing in his ears. He's still drunk and he feels rotten, but he's not about to throw up again. 

"Drink more water then. You need to rehydrate yourself."

Louis doesn't care about rehydrating, but he takes the bottle of water anyway. He gulps down half of it, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. His hands shake. "Why did you say that?"

"Did you break his heart? Were you the one that left him? Because that's what he says."

Louis's heart pounds. "It shouldn't ever have started."

Harry stares at him. "Is this why he barely spoke to me for ages? Because of you? Because you and him were, I don't know, whatever you were doing? He's my friend."

"I know, okay. I know." He caps and uncaps the bottle. His stomach rolls. "I tried not to want him. I tried so hard."

Harry's shoulders drop at that. "Lou—"

"And now he's with someone else, he's with that dickhead, and it's not fair, Haz. It's not fucking fair because it hurts." His voice catches then, a sob caught at the back of his throat. His panic attack isn't long enough ago for him to be okay. He can feel his breathing speed up again. "I miss him so much. It's not fair."

"Don't get upset," Harry says, hand to his shoulder. "Come on."

"Please don't hate me," Louis says, chest tight again. "Please. I tried and tried not to want him. I didn't mean to keep going back."

Harry wraps an arm around his shoulders. "Come on. I don't hate you. Come on."

"I'm not gay," Louis says again, breath hitching. "It's just him."

"All right," Harry says, and neither of them mention the guy from earlier. "Calm down." He hugs him, resting his chin on the top of Louis's head. "Come on. You're all right. Deep breaths."

Louis keeps hearing _he loved you, he loved you and I didn't even know_. He's shivering. "Haz."

"Let's get you into your pyjamas, all right? Of course you're still going to be upset if you're in your towel." 

Neither of them mention that Harry likes to be naked more often than not. Louis stares down at his lap, his hangover already kicking in, his head aching. He finishes the bottle of water and Harry brings him a second bottle and some pyjama bottoms and a t-shirt. He doesn't turn away so Louis drops his towel and gets into his pjs right there and then. Harry brings him a pair of socks after that, and turns down the covers for him. It's past the middle of the night. It must almost be morning. 

"No more shivering, all right?" Harry tells him, tucking Louis into bed. Louis is docile in his response, nothing else to add. He accepts Harry bringing him over two bottles of water from the fridge and putting them on the bedside table, the packet of ibuprofen and the bin by the desk moved right next to him too. He sits down on the edge of the bed and rests a hand on Louis's shoulder. "How are you feeling?"

"Don't know. Okay."

"Not panicking?"

Louis shrugs. "Don't think so." His chest still feels weird and tight and rubbish, but it's not quite as terrifying as it has been. 

"All right. Here's your phone, okay? Any sign of feeling rubbish and you call Alberto." He pauses for a moment, making room on the bedside table for Louis's mobile. "Or me." 

"Okay." 

Harry looks at him. "It'll be all right."

Louis nods, but then as Harry's turning to go, Louis reaches for him, grabbing his shirt. "Did he really love me?"

Harry twitches. He's almost expressionless. "Lou…"

"Please."

"Sounded like it to me."

Louis pulls the covers up and over his head, curling into a ball. It hurts. He hurts. 

He doesn't hear Harry leave.

~*~

Louis sleeps for about an hour and a half before he wakes up desperate for a piss. He stumbles into the bathroom. No one's let the water out of the bath and it sits there, bubble-less and cold. He pisses, then crouches down by the side of the bath to let the bathwater out. 

Nick loved him. He had loved him. 

He rests his head in his hands and tries to remember how to breathe. 

He gets a glass of water from the tap, then goes to sit on his bed. He keeps looking at the phone on his bedside table, next to the bottles of water Harry had left for him already, the caps unscrewed. He puts his glass down. He can't even do that right. 

Nick had _loved him_. 

Ringing Nick is a terrible idea. It's fucking awful. 

He does it anyway, unlocking his phone and scrolling through his contacts until he gets to Nick's name. It takes a moment to connect, and even longer to ring out. He feels sick; he's got no fucking idea what the fuck he's doing, except that there's not much that could make this situation any worse than it already is. It's early morning and he's fucked everything up already. 

Nick's not going to answer. He's just going to let it ring out. 

Louis is just about to hang up when Nick answers with a tired _hi_. 

"Harry says that you were in love with me," Louis says quickly, before his nerves get the better of him and he forgets how to say anything at all. It doesn't matter that that's not quite what Harry had said. He scrunches his hand into a fist and tries to quell the nausea in his belly. 

There's a pause. "It doesn't matter, all right?" Nick says. "It's in the past."

 _Christ_. Holy fucking shit. Fuck. Nick was in love with him. Louis loves him now, and Nick had loved him then, and everything else is so tangled up and painful that it's like there's an actual vice clamped around his chest. "You've got a boyfriend. You're with someone else."

"Yes. So it really doesn't fucking matter anymore." Nick sounds tired and upset and a million miles away. 

Louis wants to reel him in, force him across the sky like a fish on a line so he can just be here with him, breathing the same air, watching the water go down the plug the wrong way. He can't fucking breathe and they've barely said anything. His chest is tight again. He has to force himself to calm his breathing down. "You never—" he stops. Was there a crossover, perhaps? A time when Louis knew he loved Nick and Nick knew he loved Louis. He needs to know. "When did you stop loving me?"

"Louis…"

Louis has to swallow down a sob. It's not fair. It's not fucking fair. He's given his heart away and it's too fucking late. He missed the fucking boat. "You were in love with me. When did you stop?"

"What does it matter? You don't want me, so it doesn't matter."

Christ. If Nick only knew. He wipes his eyes, trying to hide the fact he's on the edge of breaking down. He wants Nick more than he's ever wanted anything or anyone in his life, and he's too fucking late. 

"Lou," Nick says. "Louis."

He's crying. "It's not fair," he manages, scrubbing at his eyes. 

"You can't— you can't not want to be with me, and still get to keep me. That's what's not fair."

Louis digs his nails into his leg. "I want you," he says finally, and his voice catches. "I want you so much. I want you more than anyone."

"Fuck, you don't get to do this."

It's the middle of the night, and Louis's heart is breaking. "When did you stop loving me?" he asks again, wiping his nose on his t-shirt. He can't stop crying. He's got nothing left to hide; this is the bottom. There's nowhere left to fall. 

"I didn't," Nick says. "I never… I never stopped." 

Louis's heart is in his mouth. He can't process this. What? 

"Fuck, you're killing me. You can't keep breaking up with me, it's not fair. I can't do this again." It sounds like Nick's crying too, and Louis can't cope if Nick cries. It's bad enough that he's sobbing, desperately trying to cover it up but with no way to disguise it. He can't cope with Nick crying as well. 

"I'm not breaking up with you." They're not together, and Louis has literally no idea how they could ever be a couple, but he can't do this anymore. He can't pretend for another fucking second that he can be happy with the two of them apart. "Please, please don't leave me. Please, fuck. I love you."

Nick's voice catches. "Oh god," he says. "Louis."

"I'm not lying," Louis says, scrubbing at his eyes with the sheet. "I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I've never… I've been awful. I'm so sorry."

"You're the other side of the world. You're the fucking other side of the world."

Louis knows. He fucking knows. It only makes a difference if… if. Christ. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"I can't be your secret," Nick says, and he sounds choked up. "I just can't."

There's something blossoming in Louis's chest, just a tendril of something that feels like hope. He grabs onto it with everything he's got. "I know. But what if you weren't? Fuck, Nick. What if you weren't?"

"Louis—"

"I can't do this without you. I can't be without you. It hurts too much. You're with that guy and I hate it. I hate it." Louis swallows, biting down hard on his lip, but Nick doesn't say anything. "I told Harry. I'll tell people, I promise."

"Tell them what?"

"That you and me are together. That I love you, if you'll let me." His hands are actually shaking. "God, Nick. Say something."

"We're not together."

Louis's heart is already broken, he can't cope with having it broken again. There's not enough left of it to fix. "Nick— _please_. Please give me one more chance. I swear I'm not going to fuck it up. I'm going to do this. Please." He hasn't got any shame left. He'll beg and he'll fucking beg. 

"This has been going on for months," Nick says. "I've loved you for months. I can't keep getting hurt."

Louis can't keep getting hurt either. He can't. He'll do whatever he has to to ensure that Nick doesn't get hurt anymore either, but that means he has to make sure Nick knows how he feels, even if he loses him all over again. "Please. I know I've been awful to you. I don't hate you at all. I never should have said that."

"I don't hate you either." Nick's breath catches. "I just keep coming back to you and I keep getting hurt."

Louis's crying again. He never, ever wants Nick to get hurt. He's losing him. "I won't hurt you again, I swear." He squeezes his eyes shut. "Pick me. Please. God, pick me."

Nick makes a desperate, choked-up noise. "I broke up with Gareth. It was never… it was always you."

"God," Louis manages, but he's sobbing, trying to hold the phone away so that Nick can't hear him giving in. He lifts his t-shirt up to cover his face, trying to hold back the tears. 

"When was the last time you got a good night's sleep?" Nick asks finally. 

There's snot on Louis's t-shirt. He wipes his nose on the back of his hand. "Fuck knows." He glances at the clock. "I've been up pretty much all night. It's six fucking a.m." He brings his knees up to his chest. "I wish you were here."

Nick's voice catches. "God, you have no idea. Fuck, I can't be your secret, you know that, right?"

"I'll come out," Louis says straightaway, even though he's come out in a cold sweat just thinking about it. He can't fucking come out. He can't fucking come out, it'd be the end of everything apart from Nick. "I'll do it."

"It doesn't have to be the world. Just, like— friends. Family. I want to tell my mum. That's all I want."

Louis can't imagine Nick telling his mum about him. _This boy I'm in love with, Louis Tomlinson_ , or, _this boy I'm going out with, Louis_ , or, _this boy who broke my heart_ , or, _this fucked up guy who hurt me_. He can't imagine telling his own mum he wants to kiss a guy. He can't imagine telling her that he loves Nick. He wishes he could; all of this might be easier. "I thought…"

Nick doesn't say anything to that. "When are you coming back?" he asks instead. 

"Three weeks," Louis says, because he's been counting down the days until he can be back somewhere familiar, somewhere he might be able to get a handle on everything he's been dealing with. He wipes his eyes again. "Nick, are we— fuck. Please, fuck."

"It's always been you," Nick says finally, and his voice sounds jagged and fractured and broken. 

Louis wraps an arm around his knees. He's so, so scared. "I want to come home to you. That's what I want."

"I'm shit at relationships. I could barely keep a boyfriend if you paid me."

"I've never even had one," Louis says, and he can hear Nick try to laugh at that, but it's not fucking funny. Louis has never in his life loved anyone the way he loves Nick. He wants this so much. "Fuck, boyfriend. God, Nick. I miss you all the fucking time. I've missed you so much."

"All we do is hurt each other."

"Not all the time. You— the way you look at me when you think I'm not looking. You think I don't see." All those times Louis had tried not to notice the way Nick had looked at him, the times he'd looked after Louis when he hadn't needed to, when he'd given Louis just what he needed and it'd been gentle afterwards, and kind. Louis didn't deserve kind, but it hadn't stopped him wanting it. 

"I've been obsessed with you for months. That's creepy, right?"

"Dunno," Louis says. It sounds about right. "It's like I wake up thinking about you, and you're always fucking there, in my head. And I can't fucking sleep." He'd do anything to have Nick here right now, in his room, in his bed, in his heart. He's so tired of having to try and deal with this alone. 

"God. Just, I don't know. Tell me what you want. Just say it. I can't guess anymore. I'm always fucking wrong."

"You," Louis says immediately. "I've tried being with you and I've tried not being with you, and none of it fucking works. The only thing left is this. The only thing I want is this." He digs his nails into his knees. Please, please, please. Please. 

"I want to be with you. I want to just fucking be with you." 

Louis wipes his eyes again. "I just need you to wait for me until November. I'm coming home then. Please."

Nick's breathing softly down the line. "I'll wait," he says finally, and Louis hides his face in his knees and tries not to break down. 

"Oh," Louis says finally. "Oh. I love you, you know."

"I know. I love you too."

A tiny part of his fractured heart stops hurting, just for a moment. 

"You think Harry's ever going to forgive us for lying to him?"

Louis can't think about that. Harry doesn't hate him, apparently, but that doesn't mean that they're forgiven. He can't consider a possibility where he doesn't get forgiven. "God. What if he doesn't? What about the others? Liam—"

"Hey. Hey. Stop it." Nick sounds gentle, but that doesn't stop Louis from feeling like he's going to vomit again. 

"Fuck. I think I'm going to throw up."

"Me too," Nick says, but Louis thinks he might actually chuck up. He digs his fingers into his thigh and tries to breathe. He can't make amends with Nick and lose Harry in one night. He can't. He couldn't deal with that. 

"Does this mean…" Nick starts hesitantly. "Are we together?"

"Christ." Louis pinches the bridge of his nose. "Please, yes." Please, please yes. 

"God," Nick says finally, and he sounds tearful. 

Louis has to swallow down a sob. "I miss you all the time. I've never been more jealous of anyone in my life than I was of him. I hated him."

"You don't need to hate him. It's over."

"Those pictures when you were holding hands. I hated them so much." Louis refuses to think about Adam from Tasmania or that guy from the hotel bar. It's not the same as Nick having a relationship. His chest's tight. "I wanted to be the one holding your hand. I wanted to be the one you looked at like that."

"Like what? 

It's a long moment before Louis can speak. "Like you were happy. I never made you happy."

Nick's voice catches. "You did. You always fucking did. That was the thing. I couldn't ever get enough of you. I'm obsessed with you. I was never obsessed with Gareth, it was just you."

Louis laughs at that. He doesn't mean to and it sounds like it's been ripped from somewhere deep inside. "Same. I'm the same," he says, because there's nothing he can say that properly describes how he's felt about Nick for so long. "I wish I could kiss you right now."

"Yeah. God, yeah."

Louis tucks his chin over his knees, and shuts his eyes. "I'm so tired."

"You want me to go?"

"No." If Nick goes, then Louis might not get him back again, but he's so tired. He's so fucking tired. His hangover's kicking in. 

"All right. But you really need to go to bed."

"I know," Louis says. "Will you… will you keep talking to me until I'm in bed?"

There's a pause. "Yeah. Of course I will."

Louis doesn't stand up. He has to clean his teeth, get a glass of water, take another couple of pills. "I've missed you so much."

"Yeah." Nick's voice is soft. "Me too, love."

"Talk to me while I clean my teeth?"

"I could tell you about Puppy," Nick suggests, and Louis puts him on speaker and takes him through to the bathroom so that Louis can put him on the side and clean his teeth. Nick's good at rambling on, and he's telling a story about Puppy's battle with a Great Dane for a stick in the park as Louis opens a bottle of paracetamol with shaking hands and swallows two. His head's killing him. His arms and legs feel like they weigh a hundred tons each. 

He lets Nick keep talking even as he's crawling back under the covers and pulling them up and over his shoulders, turning the light off. He yawns, unable to help himself, trying to cover his mouth with his hand. 

"You need to get some sleep," Nick tells him softly. 

"I know." He curls up. "Miss you."

Nick doesn't say anything back, and Louis hangs up, already mostly asleep. He drops the phone down onto his pillow, and closes his eyes.

~*~

It's Harry that comes to wake him up in the end, letting himself in and sitting down on the end of Louis's bed. He's switched the big light on and it's too bright. 

"Rise and shine," Harry says, wrapping his hand around Louis's ankle through the covers. He doesn't sound particularly cheerful. 

Louis's mouth tastes like something's died in it. His head's on fire. His stomach aches. He's fairly sure he loves Nick Grimshaw and Nick Grimshaw might love him back. 

He rolls over and hides his face in the pillows. "What time is it?"

"Lunchtime," Harry says. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I drank my bodyweight in booze," Louis says, tugging the covers up. The air conditioning's made the room dry and cold and he should have turned it off. His throat's not going to forgive him for the lack of moisture. 

Harry gets him another bottle of water from the fridge. "I'm leaving," he says, uncapping the bottle and putting it down on the bedside table. "Going to get the earlier flight. I just… I didn't want you to wake up and think I'd just gone without saying goodbye."

They're supposed to be flying to Melbourne that evening. Louis hadn't known there was an earlier option. "Harry—"

"Is everything all right? Are you okay?"

Bits of last night keep rolling over him in waves; that feeling of being caught with that guy by the lifts, what he might have done with that guy if Harry hadn't interrupted him, his phone call with Nick. "I spoke to Nick," he says finally. 

Harry's expression does something small and relatively painful. Louis's chest contracts. 

"When?"

"Dunno. This morning, maybe. Last night. I woke up."

Harry nods. "All right."

"I think we're going to—" Louis wants to be remembering this right. He really, really does. "I think we're going to try. The two of us."

Harry nods again. "Good," he says, but he's not quite meeting Louis's eyes. "That's really great for you both, Lou. Look, I've got to go, otherwise I'll miss the plane."

"Harry—"

"I'll see you in Melbourne, all right? Tomorrow, if I don't see you tonight."

Louis feels sick again, tired and hungover and scared. "I'm sorry," he says softly, his stomach rolling. "I'm so sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry for," Harry says, bright and breezy and a total fucking liar. "I'll see you, all right?"

"Okay," Louis says, and now there are two people in the world besides Nick that know he likes cock, and one of them isn't looking him in the eye. 

This is how it begins.

~*~

His phone's out of charge before they get to the airport that evening, and his hangover's bad enough that he doesn't particularly care. There's a pounding behind his eyes, he's thrown up once in the shower already, and any time Alberto looks at him he wants to curl up into a ball and die. 

He commandeers Zayn instead, pressing himself to Zayn's side and watching episodes of _Avatar: The Last Airbender_ over his shoulder. He doesn't care about what he's watching, and Zayn's earbud makes his ear hurt, but if he's staring at the screen then he's not staring at Alberto, or wondering why Harry left early, or trying not to drown in the horror of being caught with a guy. 

He can't think about Nick, not now, not when he might have got it all wrong and the two of them aren't going to try being together. 

He sleeps on the plane, head on Zayn's shoulder, and if his hands shake, then he shoves them under his thighs and refuses to pay them any attention.

~*~

At the hotel, he plugs his phone into charge and waits until it turns on before opening his messages. It's just past eleven in Melbourne, and coming from Auckland, it feels later. There's nothing from Nick, but he has no fucking idea what time it is back home. Maybe coming up to lunchtime, he thinks, and he texts _did that happen or did I dream it ?_ before he can lose his nerve. 

The text back says _it happened xxx_

Louis's shaking. _Love you xx_ he texts back, because he can't not. If everything else is crashing down around his ears, he's going to keep a hold of this until there's nothing left to hold onto, until Nick is the only thing left in the wreckage of his life. 

He has a shower, trying to wash away some of the stale smell of aeroplanes and hotels and hangovers. It hangs around him in waves, this stench of who he is, and he can't scrub it away with the remains of his Lynx shower gel even though he tries. 

He's in a pair of old pyjama bottoms when there's a knock at his door; they try not to let any fans near their hotel rooms, but he still peers through the spyglass anyway. It's Alberto, and he's carrying a takeaway cup. 

Louis takes a very deep breath, and unlocks his door. 

"Tea?" Alberto says, handing him the cup over. 

"There's a kettle in my room."

Alberto makes a face. "Can I come in anyway?"

"Suppose." He can't turn off last night, can't make it go away, can't hide his panic attack and being drunk and not being fucking gay, and he can't get away from the fact that Alberto _knows_. He knows. 

He goes and sits on the end of his bed. There's shit everywhere already, his suitcase mostly upended onto the floor as he'd tried to find his toilet bag. If Nick was here, his stuff would be pretty neat, just like his flat, just like he is, in control and handsome, and Louis misses him so fucking much. 

"So."

"So," Alberto echoes. "How you doing?"

"Fine." Louis checks his phone. There's a message from Nick that just says, _and how are you feeling today love? Xx_

Louis lets out a breath. Just for a moment, it feels like some of the strings that have been tight around his heart for so long have loosened, just for a moment. He leaves answering. 

"Louis—"

"I'm not gay," Louis says quickly. "Just in case you thought I was."

"I don't think anything." He hands Louis his cup of tea. It's a peace offering, and Louis knows it. He's not going to turn down tea anyway, so he pops the lid off and takes a sip. "It doesn't matter to me who you're with, or who you want to be with. I just need to be able to protect you when I need to."

Louis looks down at his cup. "I'm not gay," he says again. "You'll all think I am, but I'm not."

"Okay."

"I just— it's just him, all right? I just love him."

"Are we talking about Nick Grimshaw? The one you used to visit?"

It's the longest moment before Louis can nod his head. 

"You're okay, bud," Alberto says finally. "Just the way you are. Look— I'm not going to tell anyone anything, all right? You don't need to worry about that. But no more running out on me. No more sneaking out and getting into trouble I can't get you out of, all right?"

"Fine." He can't look up. He likes to put his dick near other men, and Alberto knows it. Things aren't the same as they used to be; Louis doesn't want to know how it's made things change. He doesn't want to see the different way Alberto looks at him. 

"You need anything?" Alberto asks, when it's clear Louis isn't saying anything else. 

Louis shakes his head. "I'm tired."

"Like, really tired, or going out the moment my back's turned?"

"Tired," Louis says. "I'm just tired."

Alberto pats him on the shoulder. It's a bit awkward. "You're okay, bud," he says. "Get some sleep."

Louis nods, and he doesn't look up again until the door's closed behind Alberto, and it's just him alone in the room with his lukewarm tea and a sort-of boyfriend half a world away. 

He crawls into bed, putting the TV on so he's not entirely alone with his thoughts, tea on the bedside table and his phone in his hand. 

_Rotten_ , he types, in response to Nick's _how are you_ text. _Been proper hungover all day and had to fly to melborne tonight . Hate flying feeling sick but am in bed now xx_

 _Them days make me swear I'm never drinking again_. There's a pause, then another text. _Do you regret talking to me last night?_

 _No. Meant every word . Want you x_

He pulls the covers up over his shoulders and huddles down under the blankets. The air con's on high, his phone cradled in his hand. Half a world away, Nick holds his heart in his hands. He's not sure if Nick knows. 

_Good xx am I keeping you up? You said you were in bed_

Louis is getting sleepy. _Dont wanna stop talking to you xx_

There's a pause. The little three dots don't show up, so Nick isn't replying. He closes his eyes. His phone buzzes. 

_I'll be here tomorrow promise_

_Promise promise?_ Louis is too tired and too desperate to hide how much he needs this. How much he needs Nick. 

_Swear it._

_Want to be yours_

_You are_ , Nick's reply says. _You really really are xx_

Louis falls asleep before he can manage a reply.

~*~

He wakes up twelve hours later to a picture of Nick sleepily wrapped up in his duvet with Puppy curled up against his chest, one paw raised like a wave. _Sleeeeeeeeeeeeepy pups x_

It doesn't feel real. It feels like it's happening to someone else, like Nick and him haven't made it up, like they're still fighting and Nick's still with someone else and Louis's all alone. Wanting it so much has fucked with his head. He takes a selfie, all curled up under the duvet, hair sticking up, morning breath and half closed eyes. It's mostly dark, but he runs with it anyway, attaching it to a message with a heart emoji and pressing send. Nothing comes back, but it wouldn't. It's the middle of the night back home, and Nick's working in the morning. 

He needs tea. He doesn't have to be at the venue until after lunch sometime, and he's not sure that he can face the others, even though they don't know about him and Nick. He can't face Harry. He boils the kettle and goes for a piss and splashes his face with water before crawling back into bed with a cup of tea and his iPad. It's second nature to check Nick's tag on Tumblr, but he doesn't expect gifs of Nick dressed in a terrible blue dress, choking back a beer in front of a stupid backdrop. The shoulder pads are tremendous. He's in front of a picture of a pyramid, fake boobs down his dress. Why he's dressed like that, Louis has no fucking idea.

Sometimes it feels like their lives are a million miles apart. He saves the pictures, then fucks around on the internet until he has to get up and go and get some lunch before leaving for the venue.

~*~

He phones Nick the moment he gets back to his hotel room after the show that night, kicking off his trainers even as he's launching himself onto the bed. 

"Hiya," Nick says, sounding ridiculously bright and cheerful. 

"Hiya," Louis echoes, rolling onto his back and staring up at the ceiling. He's sweaty and revolting and adrenaline is still ricocheting through him like he's a pinball machine. "Hi."

"Hi."

Louis laughs at that. It feels like all the tension in his shoulders is seeping out and down into the mattress. On stage tonight, Harry had smiled somewhere just to the right of his head instead of at him, and something inside of Louis had twisted and caught. The only way he could think of to react was to take on the night and win, like nothing was terrifying and awful and breaking. Liam had caught his frantic mood and lived up to it, the two of them racing around the stage. "How's things?"

"Oh, you know. Same old, same old. Been hanging with Britney, you know? Making fucking ridiculous Halloween videos with Britney Spears. Same thing I do every day."

"Well, Britney," Louis says, rolling onto his side. He grins. "If you're hanging with Britney." Something like happiness, excitement and anticipation is bubbling up inside of him. It's Nick, it's his Nick. His Nick. _His Nick_. He can turn off the rest of his life and switch this part on instead. He's been waiting all day. 

"Not anymore I'm not. What's got you so full of the joys of spring in October, anyway? Other than being mad for me, obviously."

Louis has to bury his face in the pillow for a moment. He refuses to think about Harry and their friendship for a single second. "The show was fucking sick, man. Fuck, so good. You by yourself?"

"Give me two seconds," Nick says, and the phone goes muffled for a moment. He comes back still laughing. "Now I'm on my own. Well, just me and central London. Just walking to my car."

"Missed you," Louis says immediately, because he can't not. 

He hears Nick's breath catch, and Louis can't tamp down the fear that rushes through him, Nick going to tell him _no_ , tell him that Louis was wrong and they're not going to try and find a way to muddle through together. 

"Yeah, me too," Nick says finally. 

Louis rolls over and buries his face in the pillow. "So," he says, trying to keep the shake out of his voice. "You haven't changed your mind or anything?"

"Nope." A door opens and closes, and then the ambient noise is reduced down to virtually nothing. 

Louis closes his eyes. "Good." He pauses, and he wishes he wasn't asking this, but he can't not. "You're not planning on kissing anyone else?"

"Not for the foreseeable future, nope. You?"

"Nope." He doesn't think about that guy in the bar. "God, do you feel like you're, I don't know, on top of the fucking world?"

"Right now I do." 

Louis's chest feels like it's opening up, like just for this moment, just for this one, he can breathe. There's space for Nick to slide on in, to sneak inside of him and take up residence like he'd never been away. 

He's been there all along, is the thing. It's just that for the longest time, Louis hadn't been able to even acknowledge it. 

"I want to rule the fucking world," he says, because he can. Because there's still space for it all to go so terribly, awfully, painfully wrong, but right now and in this moment Nick loves him and Nick knows that Louis loves him and it's been so, so long. It's been the longest time and Louis is so tired of being alone. "I was on fire tonight," he says finally. He's got Take That in his head and he doesn't even know why. He sings _all the stars are coming out tonight, they're lighting up the sky tonight_. He might be an idiot, but he can't take it back. He's breathless. 

"Brilliant," Nick says, voice soft. 

Louis wants to curl up in his arms and let the world float away, but he can't ask for that. He can't ever ask for that. He starfishes out on the bed and stares up at the ceiling fan. 

"When are you coming back from upside-down land again?"

"Not soon enough. Two and a half weeks?" Louis pauses. "Fuck, would you ever have thought we'd be having this conversation?"

"Nope," Nick says. 

_I miss you_ , Louis thinks. He wants to say it out loud, over and over again until it's written in the sky and it's out in the world for everyone to see. He can't ever imagine a world where that could be true. 

He rolls onto his side, knees pulled up to his chest, and lets Nick talk to him until it's time for him to stumble into the shower and get ready for bed. 

For the first time in forever, he feels like he can breathe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [I Bet My Life - Imagine Dragons](https://youtu.be/4ht80uzIhNs)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coming out is hard to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my lovely **hermette** for the beta and the hand-holding. Thank you also to those other people who read this along the way - I appreciate your time.  <3 All remaining mistakes are entirely my own, obviously.

It's almost a week later when Louis finally works up to telling Nick that Harry is avoiding him. It's been a weird few days, a whole week of having a boyfriend, of having Nick back in his life but hardly being able to believe that it's true. It's highs and lows. It's texting Nick and having him text back, it's being able to think _I love him_ and having the text that says _I love you_ back. It's a countdown clock in his head to going back home. It's Harry not quite looking at him and Alberto being careful with him and the others knowing something's up but no one talking about what. 

It's knowing that being with Nick comes with conditions, that Louis can't even try and keep him if he doesn't tell someone other than Harry that they're together. It's knowing he isn't brave enough, not really, not underneath. It's not knowing how to be brave enough, but wanting to be. 

It's been an odd few days. Harry had gone down with the lurgy earlier in the week, and Louis had tried to put Harry's behaviour down to him being sick and miserable, but in his heart of hearts he knew it wasn't true. Half way through the week, Harry went off to the Gold Coast with Liam, Niall, Gemma and some of the others. Louis - desperate for a break from feeling guilty - stayed behind in Sydney, taking the tour bus up to Brisbane with Zayn. He's been able to stay in the same bed for a few nights, and his body thanks him for it. He likes the familiarity of worn sheets and his own smell; even when he's revolting he's always preferred a pit of his own making. Just being with Zayn has given him a bit of time to breathe anyway - Zayn sleeps more than the rest of them, and Louis has been able to text Nick a bit and smoke up and hang around without having to deal with the expression on Harry's face as his gaze had moved past Louis time after time. 

For a few days, Louis hasn't had to look Harry in the eye, and he's been able to forget that there's a hole in his chest where there used to be something solid, a friendship and a connection that had at one point meant the world. Yesterday had been their first show in Brisbane and it meant that Harry was back to not quite being there, just like before. Because Louis had messed around with Harry's best friend behind his back for months, and he'd kept it hidden that dick was even something that he might want, and there's nothing like secrets to destroy a friendship. 

Harry leaves to fly back to Sydney with Liam and Zayn immediately after the show tonight, leaving Louis behind to come back down in the morning with the tour bus. It's one more night by himself in a hotel, one more night where he doesn't have to pretend everything's okay.

He just doesn't know how to fix it, and he can't fucking sleep. 

In the end, once the clock ticks past two in the morning, he texts Nick. _Can't sleep :( so fucking knackered :( harry's being weird with me ._

The reply is a couple of minutes coming, and just says, _weird how? Is that why you can't sleep?_

Louis pulls his knees up to his chest, the duvet wrapped around his middle. He wants to fold time and space so that there isn't this constant **what if what if what if** going round and round in his head about him and Nick, so that he can know once and for all that they've made the right decision, so they can be in the same fucking room for the first time in months and know that risking it all has been worth it. _Dunno_ , he texts back. _Miss him . Miss you. Says he's happy for us . Dunno though_. 

_You busy? Can I phone?_

Relief settles over Louis's chest. _Nope. Hang on . I'll call you_. He's already scrolling through his contacts even before the message has properly sent, pressing call as his heart starts to pound. 

"Hiya, love," Nick says. He sounds so achingly familiar it almost makes Louis's chest hurt. He's so far away. 

"Hiya. You all right?" Louis rests his cheek on his knees. 

"Yeahhhhhhh. You okay?"

Louis lets out a breath. "Knackered. I'm fucking shit at travelling. I'm just out of it all the time."

"Home soon, though."

Louis nods. He picks at a thread on the duvet cover. "Can't wait."

"Glad it's not just me. So. How's Harry?"

"Weird. He says he's happy for us, but he's always busy being somewhere I'm not." It's eating away at him, this gap between them that he can't make go away. He's always known that wanting Nick would fuck things up for the band, but even knowing that he's just too selfish to give Nick up. He couldn't bear it, not now, not after everything. Not after wanting him for so long.

"I should ring him."

Louis nods. "Probably." He yawns. He's so fucking tired. He's so tired his arms hurt and his legs hurt and his head aches. "Fuck. I just want to sleep. Why the fuck can't I sleep?"

Nick sounds gentle. "I'm sorry, love." Louis wants nothing more than to peel back the gap between them and to crawl into his side, press himself to Nick and never, ever let go. "I miss your face, you know."

Louis tries to laugh, but he can't. He sees Nick's face every single day, a constant cmd-refresh of his Tumblr tag and anywhere else he can hurt himself by reminding himself of what he can't fucking touch. "We're everywhere, Nick," he says finally. "You're probably fucking sick of my face by now."

There's the tiniest of pauses. "Nah. You know I save all those pictures to draw knobs on, anyway."

Louis traces out a cock on the duvet cover. "You must have quite a collection by now."

He can hear Nick smile, even over all those thousands and thousands of miles. "I'm taking up scrapbooking."

"Nice." Fuck, he misses Nick's face. He misses touching him, misses the way he could press his fingertips to Nick's skin, misses how he could tell him everything he could never say out loud by touching his hand to Nick's. 

Nick never knew to listen, but that wasn't the point. 

"Do you want to Skype?" Louis asks a little quickly. "I mean, we don't have to, but—"

"Yeah," Nick says quickly, and if Louis's hands shake whilst he's setting up his laptop and waiting for Nick to get his ready at the other side of the world, then at least no one's there to notice. 

When the call connects, Nick's sitting on his bed and it's daylight, the sunlight lazily seeping through Nick's open shutters. His hair's a little longer than Louis remembers; it looks a little different to how it's looked in the most recent pictures he's seen. 

Louis pulls his knee up to his chest and angles the laptop screen so he can see. His insides feel like he's in the middle of a storm in a rainforest, his heartbeat fast and quick and everywhere. "Hi," he manages. "Long time, no see."

Nick shifts so that he's lying down. He's wearing the stupidest smile ever, happy and crooked and breathless all at the same time; Louis wonders if it's echoed across his own face. He won't feel convinced that Nick is real until he's back in London with Nick right there in front of him, tangible and touchable and _his_ , but for the first time in months they're face to face and Louis wants to fucking breathe. 

"Missed you."

Nick's face softens. "Yeah. This is a bit weird, though, right?" He doesn't look like he means it in a bad way. It's just been so long. It's been so long and Louis still can't quite believe that it could possibly be happening. Him and Nick. Nick's his boyfriend. 

"A bit. Where's your stupid dog?"

"My brilliant dog is running round the living room making that stupid maple leaf squeak. Just like every day."

 _Christ_. "You kept that?" That stupid day in Canada, the one where he'd inked how he felt on his skin and hated it ever since, that stupid fucking day where he'd tried to carve a space in Nick's life for himself and fucked it up so royally, fuck. That day where he'd bought presents for Nick's dog like he'd ever had any right to. He'd wanted it so much. He'd just had zero idea of how to put any of it into words. "I thought you'd just chuck it, you know, after everything."

Nick blushes a little. It's a hint of pink. Louis wants to touch his thumbs to Nick's face. He never did that before and he's not sure he'll be allowed to this time. It doesn't mean he doesn't want to. "No," Nick says eventually. "For a start, Puppy would never speak to me again, and secondly, I've spent the whole summer being secretly stupid over you, so of course I kept the only thing you ever sent me."

Louis really, really doesn't know what to do with that. He still can't quite get his head round the idea of Nick being broken hearted over him, that somewhere else in the world, whilst Louis was trying to hold his broken heart together with lies and a cat's cradle he was knotting together himself, Nick was equally sad. He shakes his head, trying to ignore the fact he knows he's going red. 

"I didn't send it to you. I sent it to your dog."

"Me and my dog are as one. Hang on, she'll want to show you her toy. Don't go anywhere." He's barely gone for a moment, coming back with a scooped up Puppy in his arms, maple leaf in her mouth. It squeaks. 

Louis's heart contracts. "Oh god," he manages. 

"I know," Nick pets his dog. He's a natural dog owner, and Puppy clearly adores him. "Isn't she brilliant?"

"You're so mad for that dog."

Nick's smile is soft and fond. It goes straight to Louis's chest. "My dog and you."

"For the record," Louis says, and he knows his voice is quiet but he can't seem to make it louder, even over the pounding of his heart. "I love you."

"Course you are. Who wouldn't be?"

Louis digs his nails into the sheets. He's holding on and he's not even falling. "It feels all right, though, doesn't it? Like, this?"

Nick just nods. He doesn't say anything for a moment. "Quite looking forward to getting you home and actually seeing you in person again. It's been fucking forever."

"I know." They're caught together so tightly, the two of them. Two tangled cat's cradles, knotted and twisted and caught together with no hope of getting free. These little strings traversing the world, and all Louis wants to do is make them shorter, go home, have Nick in front of him. Fix the distance so they can fix everything else. "I'm sorry. I am going to tell people, you know. I know that's what you're not saying."

"That's the deal."

Louis knows that. He just terrified. "It's fucking scary, coming out."

"Yeah. I know."

"Just... there's never a good time." Maybe there never will be. "I just keep thinking, what if I can't fix things with Haz? What if I've fucked it up so much that he's always going to want to be at the opposite side of the room from me. He keeps telling me it's all right, but, like, he's barely said more than that to me all week. What if it's like that when I tell the others? What if it's like that when I tell my mum? My sisters. My nan, Nick. I never see them anyway; what if they're weird with me afterwards? For, like, Christmas?"

"I don't think Harry knows how to hold a grudge. And, like, nannas can be surprising." He reaches for something from the bedside table, coming back with his phone. 

Louis knows how to hold a grudge. It's a skill he's honed. He just hates it when he's on the receiving end, and he doesn't blame Harry. He just wishes it wasn't happening. "You've been gay since you were born, though," he says finally, without thinking. 

"Sure have," Nick says, and Louis knows he's pissed him off. He watches Nick send a text. 

"Who are you texting?"

"Harold." He smiles a little ruefully at Louis through the screen, dropping his phone down into his lap. "Your hair's got long."

He runs his fingers through it. "Yeah. Just got bored of paying attention to it, I suppose."

"I like it," Nick says finally. "There's, like, enough to hold on to."

Louis can't help but imagine Nick's hands in his hair, pulling, pushing Louis around, taking control. He knows he's going pink. "I was going to cut it, but now I might hold off a couple of weeks."

Nick laughs. "All right. Get it cut when you come back. Give me a couple of days with it first."

Louis imagines Nick touching him, sliding his hands into Louis's hair. He wants it so fucking much. The only thing standing between him and actually getting it - apart from the stupid fucking distance between them - is their deal. It can't be a secret. "I am going to tell people, you know," he says finally. 

Nick just nods. Puppy's causing trouble, so Nick throws her chew toy off the bed and out into the hall. A couple of seconds later, Louis hears the relentless squeaking of the maple leaf from somewhere off-screen. 

He reaches for one of the pillows, hugging it to his chest. "I think Liam knows there's someone. He keeps seeing me texting and elbowing me. He's about four seconds from asking who the lucky girl is."

Nick actually blushes. "That would be me."

"He thinks you're a girl."

"Yeah, but you can't have everything. And he's right about me being lucky." He smiles. His eyes are bright. Fuck, Louis loves him. He's put him through so much. 

"I'm sorry," he says. "For being such a total fuck up."

"Don't be."

"Stop being a knob and accept my apology," Louis says fiercely. "I don't make them very often. At least accept it gratefully." God, he's made such a mess of everything. He's such a fucking mess. He can't even tell his friends he's in love. 

"Okay, fine. Apology accepted. And I'm sorry too, you know. For, you know, everything."

Louis lets out a breath. His shoulders drop. "Thanks. Apology accepted."

He wishes he didn't have to wait so long for them both to be in the same place. 

Nick's phone buzzes, and Louis watches him read his text and send one in response with his heart in his mouth. This gulf between him and Harry is the worst; it feels like the punishment for how he feels that he always knew he deserved, and knowing it's his own fault is hard. 

"You all right?" Louis asks finally, when Nick doesn't look up from his phone. 

Nick sends another text. "Yeah," he says. His phone buzzes. "God."

"What is it? Harry?" Louis wants to throw up. 

"I fucking hate hurting people," Nick says, still not looking up. "I hate it. I hated it all the time I knew I was hurting you. And now we've hurt him too."

"Christ. Fuck. He's my best friend, Nick." This band is his life. He's not sure how to cope without it. 

Nick's still texting. "I know, love." He pauses. "He says he feels like a bruise. Like we've hurt him." Louis's chest hurts. "This one says it's all right, though. _Mum always says bruises fade away. I really am happy for you both. It's just a bit weird. I'm going to go to sleep now. I'll call you when I wake up. Tell Louis to stop worrying_. Then there are three kisses."

Louis is going to cry. He's going to break down and cry, right in front of Nick, and it's the fucking worst. He can't keep it inside. "I hate this," he says, and it sounds perilously close to a sob. "I'm so fucking tired, and I hate that Harry's being weird, and I really, really hate that you're the other side of the world and I can't even see you properly."

"You're seeing me now." Nick lets out a breath. "It'll be okay, Lou."

Louis draws his knees up to his chest, scratching the graze on his knee. He'd got it go-karting outside the arena earlier, or maybe skateboarding yesterday. It all blurred into one, the bruises. "I've been so scared about telling people. Like, I fucking need them, okay? I need them."

"I know," Nick says. He sounds sad, and gentle, and like he can see inside of Louis, see all the broken parts that Louis tries to keep hidden. 

Fuck. Louis's scared. "And a bit of me still fucking thinks I might be wrong, you know? Like, what if I got home and I realised I just thought I was in love with you? What then? How would I come back from telling everyone, if I was wrong?"

Nicks' face shutters. "Fuck. Please, no."

"I can't stop thinking about you. I've been obsessed with you for, like, two fucking years." He watches Nick's face change. _Two years_. It might even be longer. Louis refuses to think about it. "I've spent so long going over and over this, you have no idea. The first time you kissed me I went home and I wanked over it." He'd gone home breathless and desperate and so turned on he hadn't known what to do with himself, and he'd barely got into his living room before he had his hand shoved down his pants and his dick in his hand. The first proper time he'd got his hands on another guy and it had turned him on more than any other time in his life. "Every single time I left your flat I'd tell myself it was just sex, and it was fine because you were into the same stuff as me, like the pushing me around and holding me down and - and the other stuff." He knows he's going red. "The, like, wetting and the piss and everything. I told myself it was just that, but it isn't, because I love you anyway. Even if you didn't love me back—"

Nick shuts him up. "You idiot. I do fucking love you."

"Shut up, I'm trying to—I'm trying to say something important." He can't fucking breathe. "Even if you didn't want me back, I'd still love you. And I'm not going to stop, even if you change your mind when I get home." He's never said this where Nick could see him. He's never said all of this stuff when he hasn't been drunk or hungover. 

"I do, actually, want you back—"

Louis has to get this out. "I just - I'm sick of being scared. I'm so fucking tired of it. I love you. I want to tell my mum how great you are."

"I am pretty amazing." Nick's a lot like him, trying to diffuse a difficult conversation and take it somewhere lighter, but they can't. They can't. It means too much. 

"You are," he says softly. "I pretend I'm okay all the time. Everything out there—" He waves in the general direction of the hotel room door. "It's pretend. It's me too, but it's what I do when I'm terrified. I've never told anyone that before."

"It'll be all right, love," Nick says. 

"Will it? Will it, though? Because what the fuck am I supposed to do if I can't have this? Like, seriously?" Louis can't lose this. His heart's too caught up in it. He's not ready. He's not fucking ready to lose any of it. 

"I love you." 

Louis's chest feels a lot like it's being ripped apart, and he has no fucking idea if it's tearing apart the old or destroying the new. "I want that to be enough."

Nick lets out a low, ragged breath. Louis's missed his face so much. He's one of a privileged few who get to see Nick like this, private and with his guard down. His hair's all soft and he's a little stubbly and there are shadows under his eyes. Louis wants to wipe them away with his thumbs. He wants to touch him, learn all the places he never got to learn the last time around, make a home for himself on Nick's skin. Nick looks like he's about to cry, and Louis made him look like that. Louis did that. "You think you can sleep now?"

"Sorry," Louis says, trying to nod. He's not sure it's enough. 

"Don't be. You've been touring for about 96% of your life by now, it's hardly surprising things are getting frayed."

 _Frayed_ , Christ. It's not even close. Louis is down to his last remaining threads, and most of them Nick's holding and he doesn't even know he has to keep them safe. "You're not going to leave me, are you?"

Nick looks heartbroken. "No. Just hold on until you get home, love. We'll fix it all. Promise."

"Fuck." Louis's eyes hurt. He rubs them with the heels of his hands. "I just want you to hold me down, you know? Push me the fuck around. Pin me to the fucking bed. I feel like I can't breathe."

Nick sounds upset. "First thing we'll do, promise."

"Remember that time on the phone? Like, back in the summer?" Louis wanks to that memory. Wetting himself in the shower in a hotel room in Kansas, Nick bringing himself off at the other end of a phone. He doesn't think about the build up, about the days and days of being so desperate to talk to Nick that he'd drunk himself stupid just to build up the courage to ring. About how he'd wanted to say, _I'm sorry_ , and _what can I do_ , and _please, please take me back_. Days later he'd had a maple leaf tattooed low down on his hip, the only way he could think of to say _I've never felt like this about anyone in my life_. He'd just never had a chance to show Nick, to let him say anything back, to ask if he understood the language Louis had to use to tell him how he felt. The language of silence and secrets and tattoos that were so fucking hidden no one had ever seen them. No one had ever seen his tattoo. Adam from Tasmania, maybe. Harry, perhaps, when Louis was drunk and not gay and had sick down his shirt. The secret he was too fucking terrified to share. 

"I remember," Nick says. 

"You have no fucking idea how many times I've wanked off to that. I thought I was going crazy." He thinks back to Fiji, to being drunk in a bathroom and letting go by himself. "I tried to do it again but it wasn't the same without you." 

It wasn't the only time he'd tried it.

"I didn't even know I liked it until we did it. Now I keep thinking about it."

"Can we do it again?" It's not a deal breaker. Nothing is. Louis will do whatever it is he has to do to keep Nick, and putting all of this weird shit he wants in a box inside his head and locking it away is the least he'll do to keep him. 

"What, now?"

Louis is way too tired to get it up right now. He definitely doesn't mean now. "Not now. But sometime. Sometimes."

Nick smiles a little crookedly. "Yeah. We can do that. Whatever you want, really. We can, like, talk about all this stuff that we like and want to do when you get back."

Louis doesn't quite understand the feeling in his chest. "I'm so tired, Nick."

"I know, sweetheart. You should try and get some sleep."

Louis nods. He doesn't know if he can ask this, but he does it anyway. "Stay on the line with me?"

"Sure," Nick says softly, and Louis puts the laptop on the bedside table, turning the lights off and pulling the covers up. 

He falls asleep to the gentle sound of Nick watching him. Maybe things are going to be okay. 

~*~

He takes the bus back to Sydney, hanging out by himself in the lounge with the telly on and the road moving ever onwards beneath his feet. It's quiet, Alberto asleep in one of the bunks, the bus empty apart from the two of them. He texts Harry, _Nick told me how hurt you were. I'm really sorry. Is there anything I can do ?_

Harry doesn't reply, but by this point Louis doesn't expect him to. There's a weird brick wall between them, a wall that's still climbing upwards, brick by brick, and Louis's left trying to peer over the top and figure out which side Nick's on. He hates this, hates the ever-widening gap between him and Harry, the break between them that he caused by not being able to keep his dick in his pants where Harry's friends were concerned. 

_I think nick always wanted to tell you_ , he texts. _It was me who was too scared . He invited you round once and I was there and I went mental at him and we broke up. I was so scared of losing everyone and I lost you anyway_. 

He doesn't press send. He deletes it instead, and changes the DVD so he can watch _Back to the Future_. He doesn't know how to make any of this right. He doesn't know how to make him right most of all. 

~*~

They're leaving the venue a few days later when the paps start calling him _fagbag_. At first, he barely understands it, hearing _ratbag_ instead. His grandad had always called him that, something gentle and teasing that all the grandkids have been called, one after the other as they'd grown up. He remembered climbing onto his knee in his pyjamas and asking for stories, his grandad ruffling his hair and saying, _come on then, ratbag. Let's pick one out_. 

He hears _ratbag_. It isn't what they're saying. They're calling him _fag_. Harry and Niall and Zayn are already in the first car and it's already pulling away, and he didn't hear them yell it at them. He can't help but flinch as they shout at him, his shoulders hunching up. Alberto's getting him into the second car, one hand to his back, the other keeping the photographers and the fans away. 

_Fag_. _Fagbag_. _Cocksucker_. 

He's shaking by the time Liam climbs into the car after him. He sits on his hands so that Liam can't see how close to the edge he is, how he's shifted from his standard _fuck off, dickheads_ approach to paps to being affected like this, like he might cry given half an opportunity. 

_Fag_. _Queer_. 

_Gay boy. Louis. Louis sucks cock. Louis likes dick. Louis takes it up the arse from Nick fucking Grimshaw. Louis likes being held down. Louis likes it like a girl_. 

It's relentless, and it's not coming from outside the car. It's coming from inside his head. 

"Pretty shit bunch tonight, huh?" Liam says from where he's sprawled back in the corner of the seat, his phone already in his hand. "Fucking dickheads, honestly."

Louis nods, but he turns his attention out of the window instead. He can't turn it off inside his head. _Gay boy. Queer. Louis likes cock. Louis's a poofter_. He presses his fist to his mouth just to stop it shaking. This is what it's going to be like. This is the future. This is what he's condemned himself to and he can't even make it stop. 

Liam bumps his foot into Louis's. The car's way bigger than just what was needed for the two of them, a people carrier with space that stretches out around them. "You all right, mate?"

"Uh-huh," Louis says. It's bubbling up inside of him, fear and frustration and everything else. He loves Nick and it means _this_. It means catcalls and abuse and hassle and Louis being scared and more of Louis having to keep it all inside. 

"Louis," Alberto says. He's leaning over from the front seat. There's a bottle of water in his hand, the cap twisted off. "Drink this."

"How come I don't get one?" Liam complains, but he keeps his foot against Louis's. Maybe there's something in the way Louis looks, something he can't keep inside, a truth that seeps out of him even though he doesn't want it to. Maybe that's what the paps saw. 

"Louis," Alberto says again, because Louis hasn't taken the drink. His hands are shaking. _Fagbag. Queer. Homo_. He's not fucking gay. He's not. This isn't who he is. They don't know him. No one knows him. He misses Nick. "Look at me."

Louis tears his gaze away from the window. "I'm fine," he says, but even he can tell he doesn't sound fine. 

"Calm down," Alberto says. 

"I am calm." Louis takes the bottle but his hand shakes and it splashes on his knee. Liam looks concerned. 

"Drink it slowly," Alberto tells him, like Louis is a little kid who can't look after himself. 

_I'm not gay_ , Louis thinks. _I'm not gay. It's just Nick_. He's trying to tell Alberto that, transmit it without ever having to bring Liam into the conversation, without ever having to make Liam think differently of him. 

"What's wrong?" Liam asks. He puts his hand on Louis's knee. Louis pushes him away. 

"Nothing. I'm fine."

"You don't look fine."

"Whoop-de-fucking-doo," Louis snaps. "I'm totally fine, all right? And you can stop looking like that too." 

Alberto puts his hands up in the air, a surrender that makes Louis's chest hurt. 

They make the rest of the journey in silence. Louis directs his anger inwards, furious at himself for not being able to deal with a group of paps, furious for letting some part of himself out so that they could see their way inside, furious for not being able to be this person that everyone he loves thinks he is. 

Everyone but Nick. Fuck. _Nick_. 

~*~

He sits in his hotel room by himself later, door locked and phone on silent. He doesn't need Liam's poorly veiled interest in his wellbeing or Alberto's quiet _I know_. He doesn't need to see Harry not talking to him. He doesn't need his mum checking in or his mates living their lives or anyone else that can't reach inside of him and fix what's gone wrong. 

He wanks instead, dick out and jeans shoved off, wandering round the internet and trying to find something to get him off. He used to start with lesbians, with links that Stan or Niall used to share with him, perfect girls with perfect tits and perfectly manicured pubes getting each other off with way too long fingernails. He'd always end up clicking around, though, finding some video with a girl being done from behind, anal or otherwise, the girl on her knees and the guy with his dick out. 

He'd come way too many times imagining himself the girl. 

He goes for the wanking videos tonight, guys like him, half naked and in bed, the camera fixed on their dicks. He doesn't need to see their faces, doesn't care that they're guys and he's getting off to them. He's not, anyway. He imagines he's them, nothing else, nothing less, nothing more. 

He brings himself off in his hand, breathless and feeling stupid, the paps yelling _fagbag_ in his ear even as he stripes his own hand with come. 

Everyone always thinks they know everything about him. They're so sure they've got him fixed in their heads. They're all wrong. Every single one of them. 

They're all so fucking wrong about him. 

~*~

Nick Skypes him later, and the moment the call connects Louis knows it's a bad idea. Nick looks happy and contented and calm and pleased to see him; he has it so fucking easy and Louis can't take it. 

"I spoke to Harry," Nick says, his Dr Dre t-shirt peeking out of a red checked shirt. 

Fear and fury compete in his chest, the cat's cradle holding him together tightening to the point that it hurts. "Brilliant," he snaps, trying to cover up that he's four seconds from falling apart. "Are you and him best friends again now? It's only fucking me who's left out in the cold, then."

Nick's brow furrows a little. "Hey." He takes a breath. "You should try talking to him again."

Fury wins out. "Like I haven't tried that already." Harry was his friend first, but now Nick's taken over, Nick's won Harry back when Louis can't even get him to properly look at him. It's not fucking fair. None of this is fair. 

"Fine, all right. I'm just going to fuck off now, okay? Give me a bell when you're in the mood to talk."

Louis crumbles. Fear sneaks its insidious way over his skin. "Nick."

"It's fine. Just call me back later, or something." It's clearly not fine. God, Louis has to stop fucking hurting people. Other people manage it; why the fuck can't he?

"No. I'm sorry. Don't go. I'm just being a bastard. Sorry. Sorry." At some point, Nick's going to get tired of hearing apologies from him all the time. Louis wouldn't blame him. 

Nick nods. "You are. But don't stop on my account, or owt. Just give us a call later."

Louis buries his face in his hands. "Sorry, sorry, sorry," he says, even though it's never enough. "I'm being a dickhead. I know I am. Today's been shit. The paps..." He trails off. He can't talk about that. He has to lock this shit up, box it away and throw the key somewhere no one will ever find it. "Fuck, it doesn't matter. Look, I'm going to go and shower, wash this bad mood away." 

He needs to get his head together, figure out a way to keep this inside. Figure out a way to keep Nick without scaring him off. 

He agrees to call Nick back in a bit before hanging up, then he spends forty minutes under the shower, trying to drown away the terror in his head, the fear in his chest, the memory of those paps who saw right down inside of him and voiced all of his secrets out loud. 

Louis's fairly sure that it's the secrets that'll break him in the end. 

He pulls on the first pair of shorts and a t-shirt that he finds in his bag, then settles back on the bed to call Nick back. He starts by apologising. It can't hurt. 

Nick just looks a little sad, and he's gentle with him where before he was sharp. Louis hates that he inspires that in people, that the people he loves have to be careful with him like he's breakable. 

"How's the family?" Nick asks finally. "How's your mum?"

Louis is weary, right down to his bones. "Pregnant. You know, Daisy and Phoebe don't remember me from before I was famous. Not really. I hate that."

"I don't know. I always liked having a big brother and sister. It was dead exciting when Andy took me places."

Louis shrugs. He can't imagine having an older sibling. It was always him leading the way, always him being the first. The responsibility sits heavy on him, even when he's not at home to make sure everyone's okay. "Suppose. Just... the new babies aren't going to know me at all. I'm just going to be this person in a laptop every now and again." It's his worst fear; his mum might promise him that there will always be a space in his family for him, but it can't help but be different now. His mum's focus won't be on him, not in the same way it has been. Two babies. Louis picks at the duvet cover. "My mum gets so much shit because it's me. They all do. People giving my sisters shit on Twitter and at school and in the fucking street. The babies are going to get that too, and they're not even born yet. Everyone keeps getting hurt, and it's just because of me and what I do. It's just going to get fucking worse, too, once they know about you." It's the thing he's been scared of saying, voicing it out loud, that Louis being in love with Nick won't just make it harder for him, it'll make it harder for the people he loves more than anything. He's making it harder for them. Everything he does has a fucking impact. He's so tired of trying to keep it all together. 

"Liking boys isn't exactly the worst thing in the world, you know," Nick says carefully. "I didn't get any—" He stops. 

"Go on," Louis says. It comes out like ice. It's so fucking easy for everyone who isn't Louis, that's what Nick's trying to say, isn't it? 

"I didn't get any hassle when I was going out with Gareth."

Louis always was second best. "Should have stayed with him, then. If your relationship was so perfect. Rather than waiting for me to be less of a fucking fuck up." 

"For fuck's sake," Nick says. He looks pissed off. "I'm not fucking apologising to you for going out with him, so you're going to have to get used to the fact he existed, all right? I slept with someone else; we weren't together. We're together now. If this is going to be a thing, me having sex with someone else—"

The tension inside of him snaps. "You're not the only one who's shagged about. You think I've been celibate since, like, fucking June?" He wants to be mean. He wants to have someone else feel as shit as he's feeling right now, wants to share it out so he's not the only one dealing with this tightness in his chest. 

Nick pushes the laptop away a little. "Christ."

"Hurts, doesn't it?" Louis manages, but the balloon inside of him deflates then, puffed up hot air disappearing into nothing. He aches. He wishes he'd never gone near Adam from Tasmania. He definitely wishes he'd never gone near the drunk guy in the hotel bar. Mostly he wishes he'd never fucked it up with Nick in the first place. He's been so fucking miserable. 

"You think we're ever going to stop hurting each other? You're so fucking good at it."

Louis's such a dick. "You're so fucking good at it."

Nick sighs. "We're both so fucking good at it. Don't you ever get tired of it?"

 _All the fucking time. Every single second of every single day_. "I don't know what I'm doing," he says finally, like that isn't completely fucking obvious from space. "I'm so tired, and I fucking miss you, and you're a million miles away. What the fuck happens if I get home and it turns out I'm wrong about how I feel, and I've told everyone for no reason at all?" 

"You haven't told everyone. You've told Harry."

"You always want more from me." Louis wants to cry. He's so tired, and he's so scared, and he's fucking this up. The one thing he desperately wants in his life and he's fucking it up. He doesn't know how to stop. 

Fuck, he just wants to be held. He wants it so badly that he's fairly sure Nick can hear him begging for it even back in London. He just wants to be touched. He just wants Nick. 

"I don't," Nick says. "I just want this from you. You knew that. Don't try and pretend you didn't agree to this."

Louis wants to cry. "You terrify me. You and your stupid rich friends and your posh lives and being fucking cool all the time. How the hell am I going to fit in? They're just going to take one look at me and tell me to fuck right off." He doesn't fit in with people like Nick's friends. He's not fashionable or cool enough; he doesn't know how to try. He's not Harry. No matter how hard he tries, he's never going to be Harry. 

"I'm not posh," Nick says finally, which isn't an answer. It's not the reassurance Louis needs to know that he'll fit into Nick's life once their relationship is bigger than just the secret they've lived so far. Louis is sick to fucking death of being scared. 

"Your friends are," Louis doesn't relent. "They're going to think I'm a right dickhead." He doesn't want to lose Nick because he can't fit in. 

Nick takes a deep breath. "Just pushing aside the part where you think my taste in friends is awful, it doesn't actually matter what my friends think of you. I'm the one going out with you, right? I'm the one that—" He stops. 

"Go on," Louis says softly. He wants to reach through the screen and take Nick's hand in his. He's not entirely sure they've ever held hands. 

"I'm the one that's in love with you, all right? So, do you think that maybe you could stop being a dickhead for a bit at least?"

"I want to come home. I'm so tired. I just want to come home. I want to come home to you."

Nick looks impossibly sad. "I know. Look, these other people you've slept with this summer..."

"One person. One guy." 

"What was it like? Was it like with us?"

 _No_. "No. I just—I was so jealous. I was so, so jealous, and I just thought, if you could be with other people, then so could I, but it was just... nothing. I didn't feel anything. He wanked me off and I did him and it didn't feel like anything. It was over and I left. I don't even know what his name was." _Lie_. "Is that what you wanted to know? You happy now?"

Nick doesn't look anything even vaguely close to happy. It takes him a minute to say anything. "I tried, you know, with Gareth. I wanted it to be easy, because how hard it was between you and me was killing me, you know? I hated it. I loved you, but I hated how much we kept hurting each other. I hated it. And then, like—Gareth was just there, and I didn't think he liked me any more than I liked him, but apparently it turned out he did, because I hurt him too."

"Nick—" Fuck, they can't keep doing this to each other. They need to find a way to put it right. He needs to start trying to tell the truth like Nick is.

"I can't keep hurting you. I don't want that. I just want us to stop doing that. Do you think we can?"

Sometimes the roughness is just what Louis likes, though. Shit, he hasn't got the words to articulate any of this. "I like it rough," he says finally. "When we have sex, I like it when it's rough. I'm going to keep wanting that, I think." It's the first time he's managed to be honest. 

"It's not the same thing. I like that too. I've never liked sex as much as I've liked it with you. I fucking love it when you want me to hold you down and push you around. I just want that. But that's not the same as being mean to each other. I hate that."

Louis has no idea how to navigate the minefield of what he wants and what he doesn't want. It's all so confusing. He's so mixed up. "Isn't it?" he asks finally. 

"No. Do you really think that it is?"

Probably not. Louis's too tired to figure it out. "Dunno. I'm so tired, Nick. I've still got a bit of this fucking cold, and we don't get a minute's peace, like, ever. I just want a break."

"Come home," Nick says, and Louis's chest aches from wanting it so much. "Come home and we'll fix this shit and we'll make it all right."

It's all that Louis wants. He wants to fix this, fix him, fix everything that's slowly fracturing around him. "I'm sorry," he says, resting his cheek on his knee. "For all the times I was mean."

"Me too. God, just come home."

They're so close to fucking it all up, to making a mess of everything they want. There's too much distance between them, too much they still have to sort out, too much that needs for them to be in the same fucking place to be able to be put to rest. The longer they wait, the more likely it is that it'll all fall down around them. 

"Soon," Louis says, and he hopes it's enough. "I'm coming home soon."

It still takes him a long time to fall asleep. 

~*~

The tour moves on to Melbourne again before Louis gets a chance to talk to Harry. Before that, there's just... excuses, Louis not knowing what the fuck to say to make it right and Harry holding a conversation with a space two inches to the right of Louis's head, a cover up that Louis just can't fucking deal with any more. It's not in his nature to stay quiet and not speak up. He gets it from his mum. 

He corners him at breakfast, getting up early and sliding in beside him at their screened off table, right at the back of the hotel restaurant. Harry's clearly been working out already; he's wearing a stupid sweatband and stupid shorts and a faded old t-shirt that looks like it didn't start off being Harry's. There's a fairly good chance it took up residence in Louis's bag at one point or another. Back in the day they'd all shared a lot more than they do now. 

"Morning," Harry says, without quite meeting his eyes. He's eating scrambled eggs; they look milky white and too undernourished for Louis's liking. He's ordered bacon and eggs. He wants baked beans too, but mostly he just wants to be at home so he can eat an entire can of Heinz baked beans with mini sausages and call it a meal. 

"Morning," Louis says. He cradles a cup of tea. "You sleep all right?"

"So-so," Harry says. There's a pause. "You?"

"Pretty rubbish," Louis says. He does his best not to glance around to see who's listening in, but it's early enough and they're seated in the very corner and the restaurant's quiet enough that they're by themselves even without the security measure of the screens. He'd roped Alberto in anyway, asking him to sit a couple of tables away and ensure they continue to get a bit of peace. "Can we talk?"

Harry's shoulders drop. "Lou—"

"You're talking to Nick," Louis says. "I know you've talked to Nick. Why won't you talk to me?" He looks down at his tea. "How come you'll forgive Nick but you won't forgive me?"

"I am talking to you," Harry says. He forks up another mouthful of anaemic scrambled eggs. Harry's health food choices bewilder Louis. "I'm not _not_ talking to you, am I?"

Louis's chest aches. "I know I hurt you," he says quietly. "I know it. I'm sorry we messed around behind your back. I'm sorry all of this was going on and I didn't tell you about it. I'm sorry. But will you just tell me how I can fix it? Please, Harry. I hate this."

"I hate this too," Harry says. He puts his fork down in the middle of his plate, knife lined up neatly beside it. He hasn't finished eating. "I thought I knew you, and it turned out I didn't. I'm just trying to figure out who you are. I'm sorry if it's taking more time than you'd like."

"Fuck." Louis reached over and grabbed Harry's wrist. "You do know me. I swear. You know me. And anything you don't know, I'll tell you. Just ask me. I promise. I'll tell you."

Harry shakes him off. "Anything?" he asks. His skin's bad at the moment, his eyes tired. They're all struggling on this leg of the tour, more so than any other one they've done. This stupid sore throat and flu thing they've been passing round them hasn't helped, but Louis's secrets are slowly seeping out, a plague that's going to take each of them down in turn. "Fuck, Louis. I don't know who you are anymore. I don't even know if I ever did. I don't know what to say to you. It's going to be all right, just, I don't know, not right now, okay?" He lets out a breath. "I'm going to have a swim. I'll see you later. At the venue, if not before."

Louis nods. His vision blurs. His eyes are wet. He can't let Harry see. He ducks his head. 

He doesn't look up until he's sure he's alone again, until they're bringing his breakfast over and he's not sure he can eat a bite. 

He doesn't know how to make it right. 

~*~

He's in his hotel room just before lunch when there's a knock at the door. 

It's Harry. He's brought Louis a coffee, like tea isn't always preferable and he hasn't got a kettle right here in his hotel room. 

"Hi," Louis says softly, taking the cup. 

"I thought you might be thirsty," Harry says, still standing in the doorway. He bites his lip. "Can I come in?"

Louis steps back, out of the doorway. His back hits the wall. He waits until Harry's come in before he shuts the door, taking the lid off his takeaway cup to find out what Harry's brought him. 

"Chai tea latte," Harry says, sitting down on the end of Louis's bed. The room's a mess, just like every hotel room he ever has is. The beds are never comfortable until he's fucked with the sheets and the pillows and there's no point unpacking into drawers or cupboards when they're only ever going to be in cities for a couple of days. He upends his bags all over everywhere, an explosion of his belongings that he sweeps back into his case every couple of days. 

"Thanks," Louis says. He leans back against the wall by the TV, takeaway cup in hand. "You all right?"

"I can't get my head around it. You and Nick. You liking Nick."

"I do." It's the only truth he's sure of. 

Harry's got some kind of weird green smoothie in a see-through cup. He went through some kind of wheatgrass phase where everything tasted like he was eating the inside of a combine harvester, and since then, Louis's been too scared to go near any of his drinks. Harry's not drinking much of it, though. Maybe it really is wheatgrass. 

He doesn't know what else to say. He's tired. 

"I keep thinking about how you've been lying to me for years," Harry says. "I just keep thinking about the two of you together all those times, and if you thought about whether or not I'd be hurt when I found out you were both lying to me. I'm trying, but I can't not."

"It wasn't like that." Louis had barely allowed himself to think about anything when he was with Nick other than a constant refrain of _this doesn't mean anything_ and _you're just scratching an itch_ and _don't ever show him how much you want this_. 

"How can it not have been? You don't like each other. There's nothing in common between you that isn't me. I don't know how any of this happened, and then Nick says he loves you, and you're talking about, I don't know, going out with him or something, and I don't—" He stops. "I don't know what's going on and how I got it so wrong, because I wouldn't have bet on you two in a million years."

"I love him," Louis says softly. "I don't know how it happened, but, like, it did." He's never said that out loud before to anyone that isn't Nick, and he hasn't had the chance to say that face to face. It's not fair that he gets to say it to Harry before he says it to Nick. He tightens his hand on his Starbucks cup. 

"Lou -" 

Louis looks up. "Yeah?"

"You're in love with him?"

Louis waits the longest moment before he nods. "Yeah."

"I didn't know."

"You're the first person I've told that isn't Nick." He tries to smile. None of it is even vaguely amusing. "It wasn't... we didn't sit around in bed and talk about our lives. We didn't talk about you. We didn't talk about anything. We just, I don't know." He can't say _we fought and we fucked, and sometimes we did both at the same time_. "I was terrified," he says, like that's any kind of excuse. "I was so fucking scared I didn't know what to do with myself. I still don't. I'm still trying to figure this shit out. You think I kept this from you because I like secrets? You think either of us did any of this because we liked the fucking thrill of going behind other people's backs?"

"I don't know what I think. I don't understand any of this. I didn't know you even liked guys."

There was a tiny black spot in their history, thirty seconds one drunken night at the bungalow when Harry's mouth had been near Louis's dick. It had been over before it had even begun. Louis had once told Nick about it, trying to make it sound like he was more experienced with guys than he was, but maybe Harry didn't even remember it. Maybe there wasn't anything to remember. It hadn't been gay; they'd just been drunk and teenagers and all five of them had spent the night talking about how far they'd gone with girls. The others were asleep and Harry's cheek had rested on Louis's chest as they'd sprawled out, mostly asleep too and really quite drunk. Louis had been a little bit hard and Harry had ended up with his face in Louis's lap.

He'd looked up at Louis and Louis had read a question in his expression that might or might not have been there. It was a single moment where Louis might have let his barriers down, a breath in time that might have changed everything, but it hadn't. Louis had tipped his head back instead, breathing his secret into the night sky so that Harry never had to hear it, then they'd stumbled inside and slept. He'd lied to Nick about it, and he'd lied to Harry about everything, and he'd lied to himself about none of it meaning anything. 

Louis lets out a breath. "I'm not gay."

Harry still doesn't look like he altogether believes him. "There's a label in the middle, you know. You don't have to be gay to like Nick."

Louis doesn't want to talk about that. "We didn't talk about anything. We weren't having an affair and getting off on how secret it was. It wasn't like that at all."

"Then what was it like? Because I don't understand at all, and I'm trying." 

"Imagine, like..." Louis stops. Talking about shit like this doesn't feel like him. "Imagine the most fragile thing you can, all right? And imagine that it's breaking, right there in front of you, but if you just hold it then you might be able to stop it breaking for just a bit longer. I knew we weren't forever. I knew it. He knew it too. He's not who I was going to end up with. But, like, what we had, Haz. I've been going out of my mind missing it."

Harry leans forward to put his drink down on the cabinet where the TV is. He sits back, hands in his lap. "You and Nick."

Louis wants to cry. He's sick of wanting to cry, but everything he cares about in the world feels like it's been thrown up into the air and there's no way he can catch it all on the way back down. Whatever happens, he's going to have lost something at the end of all of this, and right now, it feels like Harry. "Yeah."

"And you're scared."

"Fucking terrified. Totally fucking bricking it."

"Why?"

"I'm telling you I'm in love with Nick."

Harry looks desperately sad. "You shouldn't be terrified telling me you're in love."

Louis takes a gulp of his chai tea latte, then puts it down on the counter next to Harry's. He perches on the bed next to Harry. "I don't remember what it feels like not to be scared all the time," he says softly. "I'm so fucking terrified."

"Of what?"

"I don't know. Everything. Of being this serious about him. About loving him so much. About having to come out and how everybody's going to think they know me and what's in my head. About losing people just because I'm in love with him." He scratches his leg through his tracksuit bottoms. "About losing Nick because I don't have a fucking clue what I'm doing and all I've done so far is fuck this up. About losing you."

Harry makes a soft sound in his throat. "I'm mad at you," he says finally. "I'm angry. You slept with my friend and then you both hid it from me. Over and over again. I thought he was avoiding me because of something I'd done."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"You're not going to lose me. You're not going to lose any of us. I can be angry with you without going for the door."

"How can I fix it?"

Harry shrugs. "I don't know. I really, really don't know. Time, maybe? Probably just time. But you could try being less scared. You could try trusting us instead of hiding. Do you really think we're going to let you down if you let us in?"

This is all so fucking complicated. "I just want to see him. It just feels pretend. It feels like I'm making it up, like we haven't made up at all, like I'm going to get home and he's not going to want me after all and he's still going to hate me like before."

"I don't think he ever hated you. He loved you."

"I'm going to come out for him, you know? He can't be my secret anymore. That was the condition."

Harry stills. "To everyone?"

"To you guys, and my family, and my mates, I suppose. I'm not telling _The Sun_ any time soon."

"And Nick's all right with that?"

Louis nods. "He wants to tell his mum. Fucking hell, Harry. He wants to tell his mum about me."

"Eileen's lovely. She's great. His whole family's great."

Louis's shoulders slump. Harry's been there first; he already has relationships with Nick's family where Louis has nothing. Harry always seems to have it so easy, and jealousy over it has been eating Louis away for far longer than he'll ever admit to. It doesn't mean he loves Harry any the less. "I want to fix this between you and me. More than anything. I hate this. I hate that I hurt you."

Harry nods. "I know. I know you are. I'm trying." He takes a breath. "I'm going to go early to the venue. Are you all right?"

"Course. You?"

"Yeah." He stands up. "I'll see you later on."

Louis nods, and he waits until the hotel room door's closed after Harry before he sprawls back against the covers and stares up at the ceiling fan. 

He's got to fucking come out. 

~*~

The show that night is frenetic, fear humming across Louis's skin, sweat staining his t-shirt. He's got to figure out how to come out, got to beat this terror that hides inside of him, the constant dread that he can't ever quiet. 

"You all right?" Liam asks, as they rush backstage for a wee midway through the show. 

"'Course," Louis lies, but Liam's been looking at him funny for days now, clearly trying to find a way to unlock Louis's secrets and Louis wants to let him in. He wants to let him in so much, because he's been so alone for so long and it's killing him, but he doesn't know the words. He can't articulate anything that's inside of his head. He can't even graduate from _I love him_ to _I'm in love with him._

There's a queue for the portaloo, Niall already in there, and Liam rocks from foot to foot, watching him wait. 

"I'll get it out of you," Liam tells him. 

"I want you to," Louis says, but Niall's coming out of the loo and Louis can't help but push past Liam and sneak on in first, even though he'd always rather wait that little bit longer. Even telling Liam what he just had was terrifying. How the fuck is he ever, ever going to find the words to say he's in love with Nick, and explain to everyone who means anything to him just what that means? He can't even say he's not okay, and that's fucking obvious from space. 

He's so tired of being scared. He wants it all to stop. 

He just wants it all to stop.

~*~

It's almost one in the morning when he finally works up the courage to Skype Nick. 

"Don't you ever sleep?" Nick asks as he answers, clearly balancing the laptop in one hand. He's in his kitchen so the lighting is terrible, but Louis doesn't care. His Nick. His Nick with his stupid hair and his hairdressing kittens and his jeans that are more holes than denim. The laptop goes all wonky for a minute, Nick putting it down on the counter and going to switch the light on, coming back to grin _hello_ at him. 

"Not really," Louis tells him. "Not at the moment." His stomach is turning somersaults. He has to do this. He can't leave it any longer. Maybe the risk of losing Nick again is worth the risk of losing some of his friends. He's been turning it over and over all night, even getting to the point of holding his phone in his hand and pulling up his Mum's contact screen. He watches Nick potter around his kitchen, putting the coffee machine on and some food down for Puppy. "Look, all right. I'm really sorry for being such a knobhead."

Nick straightens up. His t-shirt is one with Madonna on the front, the picture from the eighties. It's all faded and stretched out, the fit a little weird, big around the front like it might belong to one of his friends. Someone with boobs, maybe. He eyes Louis with something that Louis's come to recognise as concern. "Thanks," he says finally. "Look, I'm sorry that I'm making things difficult for you."

Louis just shakes his head. "It's not you. It's me. I'm sorry." He's been working up to this phone call for hours now. Days, even. He taps his fingers against his thigh, sitting cross-legged on the hotel bed. He can't keep still. 

"Are you sure you're all right? You haven't... taken anything, right?"

Louis tries to laugh. It comes out sounding weird. "No. This is coffee and terror and vodka." It's not the first time he's tried doubling up and adding a shot of vodka to a coffee, but it's the first time he's been sober when he's tried it. It had been foul and he'd tipped the coffee away and necked a shot or two of vodka instead. Coming out, fuck. "I told Harry that I'm in love with you, by the way."

Nick pulls a face. He leans against the counter, one hand to the edge of the cooker. Behind him, the coffee machine is happily chugging away. His kitchen is so dark and stylish and grown up; the way he fits inside his flat is one hundred per cent the opposite of how Louis fails to fit into his. "Didn't he already know that?"

"I told him I was in love with you and that I was totally fucking serious about you." Or words to that effect. Or as near as he could manage. Fuck, he's shit at this. 

"Right," Nick says finally. "What did he say?"

Louis doesn't want to talk about how hurt Harry still is with him. About how close he keeps coming to messing it up. He's ashamed of the fact that Nick's succeeded where he's failed at winning Harry back over. "That I should be less scared. That telling him I was in love shouldn't be fucking terrifying."

Nick pours some kind of fake milk on his coffee, then leans back against the counter. "He's got a point, love." He sounds gentle. 

Louis hates it when Nick is gentle with him. He wants it so fucking much. Needing it like this is the worst. 

He shakes his head. "I'm still scared shitless. I'm scared all the time. I'm scared of you." He's talking too fast. Fuck. "I told him I was going to come out for you. But I'm scared of you not wanting me anymore because I'm such a fuck up. I'm scared of telling people I want you and then you figuring out you don't want me anymore." He ignores Nick trying to butt in and stop him talking. He's on a roll. "I'm scared of my mum thinking differently about me and I'm scared of Liam not wanting to get changed with me anymore. I'm scared Zayn'll look at me different. What if, like, I don't know, Niall doesn't want to be my friend?" It's all this stuff that he can't stop thinking about, a hundred different possibilities that trip over each other in their fight to be the most catastrophic ending Louis can imagine. 

Nick looks a little bit like he might cry. Louis can't help but wonder which bit is the saddest. He can't figure it out. 

"They won't, I swear."

"They might. I'm scared they might." He tries to smile. He's been pretending for so long that he's okay. He wants to stop pretending. He wants to actually be okay. "Like, Nick... I'm not scared of how I feel about you. Not anymore. The rest of it is terrifying, but me being in love with you isn't."

"All right."

Louis has to do this. His heart is pounding. "You're not going anywhere, are you? You can stay here for a bit with me?"

Nick scoops the laptop up and his coffee, and Louis watches as Nick on the screen wobbles, Nick sitting down on the sofa, laptop going down onto his coffee table, Nick angling the screen so that he's in frame. He picks up his phone. "Not going anywhere." 

Louis nods, going for his own phone. His hands are sweating and it takes him two goes just to get his own passcode in. He has tried and tried and tried to find the words to say it out loud to the people he loves, but he doesn't have them. He's not brave enough. He can barely say it out loud in front of the mirror. 

He has to keep looking at Nick just to remind himself why he's doing this. Why he's coming out. Why he's coming out by text. He still doesn't know what the fuck he's supposed to say.

 _I've been seeing someone on and off for a while and we've just got together properly. ~~Think it's serious~~. _ He deletes the last bit. _I've got a boyfriend and I wanted you to know. Just starting to tell people so please don't spread it round yet. Thanks xxx_

Fucking hell. It's not good enough, but maybe nothing is. Louis isn't, that's for sure.

"What are you doing?" Nick asks after a couple of minutes. 

Louis sends his message to Liam, Zayn, Niall, Stan, Oli, then Lou. He hovers over his mum's name. He can't do this by text to his _mum_. Christ. 

He really can't fucking do it over the phone, though. He doesn't have the words. 

"Telling people about us," he says, without looking up. He adds _love you so much_ to the end of his text, but he can't send that to his mum. He deletes it. "Well, Liam and Zayn and Niall and Stan and a couple of others." Fuck. 

Nick looks startled. "You're coming out by text?"

Louis is going to throw up. He's going to actually throw up. "Only a little bit. Fuck, I'm pretty sure this is what having a heart attack feels like." He shows his phone to the camera on his computer. 

"What's it say?" Nick asks, peering at his screen. He looks pale. Not as pale as Louis feels. 

Louis forwards the message to Alberto and Paul as well. "Hmm? Oh. Right." He clears his throat. "Just that I've been seeing someone for a while and we've just made it official, and that it's a guy. Basically." His stomach is properly churning. "I think I'm going to throw up."

Nick makes an odd, choked off noise that might be a laugh. "God. Did you put the bit about vomming in your text?"

Louis shook his head. "Nope. Probably should have done, then maybe they won't have a go at me. Fuck. Fuck. I'm texting my mum."

"Jesus. You're coming out to your mum by text?"

Louis wishes he wasn't. His mum is his best fucking friend in the world, but he can't tell her this. He can't explain that he's not gay but that he's desperately in love with Nick fucking Grimshaw and he never even told her it was a possibility. He's bitten his lip so hard it's started to bleed. "Hi Mum," he reads out. "Got something to tell you. Don't worry, I'm really happy. Going out with someone new and it's great. He's really great. I think you'll like him."

His heart's beating hard enough to break out of his chest. His stomach's rolling. 

"Christ," Nick says finally.

Louis presses the heels of his hands to his eyes. "Nick. Nick. God, I'm going to be sick."

"Like, really?"

Louis swallows carefully. He's sweating. Maybe that coffee and vodka combination hadn't been the best thing to settle his stomach. "Really."

"Deep breaths."

It's not going to be like that time he'd come out to Harry, it's not. Except it feels just the same, his chest tight, his breath coming short and quick. "I _am_ fucking breathing." 

No one's texting or calling him back, though. It might be the middle of the night in Australia but it's not back home. Someone has to be fucking awake to tell him they'd got his text. They weren't going to drop him without acknowledging him, right? 

"Christ, what the fuck did I just do?"

"Come out, I think."

Louis stumbles off the bed and into the hotel bathroom, leaning back against the door and trying to remember how to breathe. He spits into the toilet bowl, half of him certain he's going to throw up, the other half ready to have some kind of weird panic attack like the night Harry had had to call Alberto over. When he hears his phone ping with a message in the other room, he retches into the toilet bowl, once, then again, but nothing comes up. He ends up leaning over the sink, hands shaking, splashing cold water on his face and refusing to look at himself in the mirror. 

It's always the same face looking back at him, the one he sometimes doesn't recognise. It feels like he's constantly at war with himself. He loves Nick. He's in love with Nick. It's not that he wishes he wasn't. It's not that at all. But sometimes he wishes he didn't want to be. His life would be a whole lot easier if he'd just fallen in love with one of Liam's sisters, or some girl he met on tour. 

He never has taken the easy route. 

"Are you okay?" It's a yell from the direction of his laptop. 

His Nick. His boyfriend, Nick. "No," he shouts back, because wishing he didn't want this isn't the same as wishing he wasn't in love with Nick. He loves him so fucking much. He's risking everything he's worked for just to be with him. It's terrifying. 

He takes a drink of water, swallowing it down slowly before venturing out into the bedroom again, sitting down a little carefully on the edge of the bed. 

"You okay?" Nick asks. "Did you throw up?"

"Sort of." No, not really, but it's easier than explaining the crippling panic that pulls all the strings of his cat's cradle tighter and tighter until he can't breathe. 

"Your phone went off." 

Louis's already staring down at his phone, at its black screen. "I know."

"Aren't you going to see who it is?"

Louis shakes his head. "No. What if they hate me?"

Nick looks desperately sad. "If they do, I'll catch the first flight over and punch them in the face."

For a moment, Louis considers begging Nick to come over anyway, but they're so close to getting to go home that the logistics probably wouldn't make sense. They've got one more show in Australia, then they'll be in Japan the day after that. They're flying home in five days, the overnight flight that will get Louis home to Nick for the first time in months. That's potentially just as scary as coming out. "You'd be rubbish at punching someone."

Nick rolls his eyes. "I'd be fierce in their general direction, then. Go on, love. Check it."

It isn't like Louis hasn't got a pile of people who'd stand up for him in their own way, but Nick's different. Nick's focus is Louis, and even without having seen him in person in months, it kind of makes Louis want to do better, to be stronger, to be braver. He'd never have done this without Nick. But then, Louis isn't all that brave or strong. Not underneath. He's just very good at pretending. 

He keeps staring down at his phone. 

"I'd get my proper fierce boyfriend face on," Nick goes on, and Louis can't help but focus on _boyfriend_. His boyfriend. His Nick. 

"In that case." He tries to smile. He can't look up. "You'll still be my friend, won't you? Even if no one else is?" It feels like it's being wrenched out of him. He doesn't normally beg. He doesn't normally let himself. 

"Course," Nick says, almost like he doesn't even have to think about it. Like he's already picked his side, and that side is Louis. 

Louis presses the home button on his phone so his messages show up. There's just one. 

"Who's it from?"

"Niall," Louis says, and he swipes left so he can put in his passcode. 

"And?"

Louis stares down at the screen. He feels sick. "He says that it's great, and he uses four exclamation marks, and he wants to know if he can come over, except if I've got my boyfriend here, in which case he'll just wait until morning." 

Niall knows that he's got a boyfriend, and it sounds like he still wants to be friends. All these years lying and hiding and wanting and needing, and maybe at the end of it there will still be the shell of his life waiting for him. 

Nick lets out a loud breath. "That's good."

"Yeah." His hands are still sweating. Everyone else is staying desperately silent. "Should I tell him to come over?" He can't help but look up this time, at Nick, who's so careful with him, who seems to love Louis like Louis loves Nick, only probably not quite as much. Louis always has loved too long and too hard. 

"Seems like a good idea. You going to tell him it's me?"

"Yeah." He might only have enough bravado left for this one night. He can't string this out any longer. He might wake up in the morning and be a total fucking coward again, and that's the worst. He texts Niall telling him to come over. It pings with another message immediately, a _see you in a minute_ from Niall. "Will you stay online until I've told him?"

Asking for support is the worst. 

"Yep," Nick says, and in the background, Louis can hear Puppy running up and down Nick's wooden floors with a squeaky toy. Maybe it's her maple leaf. Maybe inking his skin with the way he feels isn't the worst decision Louis has ever made. Maybe. 

There's a knock at his door. Louis can't breathe. "Nick."

"Go on," Nick chides. "Let him in."

Louis stumbles to his feet, palms sweating, legs trembling. He fumbles with the lock, trying to take the security off. 

In the hallway, Niall's in sweatpants and a zip-up hoody, socks but no shoes. His hair's soft and still a little damp. 

He's grinning. "All right," he says, "what's all this, then?"

Louis has no idea what to say. "Niall—"

Something must show on Louis's face because Niall hugs him, stepping through the door and wrapping his arms around Louis's shoulders. "It's okay," Niall tells him, smacking a kiss to Louis's cheek. "God, you're shaking."

Louis tries to shrug. "Come in."

"You all right?"

"Course." It's a total fucking lie. He's falling apart. He's a desperate mess. He's sent that text to his mum and he hasn't got anything back. 

"So, then. Who is he, then? Anyone we know?" He's got a hand to Louis's shoulder, and Louis feels the weight of it right down to his toes. 

"Come here." Louis gets back onto the bed, the laptop lost in the sheets a little, but Nick's still there, cup of coffee in hand, trying to give him a thumbs up. 

"Not being funny, mate, but if he's hiding under your covers then you should have told me to stay in my room."

"He's on Skype," Louis says, over the desperately loud pounding of his heart. He pats the bed next to him, and Niall sits down, brow a little furrowed. Oh, Christ. Fucking hell. Fuck. He's begging Nick to take over, begging him with everything he's got because he's so close to the edge he's about to stumble over it, free fall, and the ground feels a hell of a long way away. 

Nick must hear his silent cry for help, because he waves at Niall. "Hiya."

Niall glances at Louis, then back at the screen. "Holy shit, that's Nick Grimshaw."

"Guilty as charged." Nick stops looking at Niall, turning back to Louis. Why isn't he here? Why isn't Nick here so that Louis can crawl into his lap and get Nick to help take all the tightness in his chest away, so that Louis can fucking breathe again and face the world anew. "You all right?"

Louis's shaking. He can't help it. He can't stop. Niall must be able to feel his knee trembling against his. He tries to laugh. "If I throw up again, are you going to dump me?"

Nick is wearing that gentle expression again. "Don't do that. Tell him it's okay, will you, Niall? Or something. Tell him something."

Niall gives Nick a little nod. "It's okay." He drags Louis into another hug, and he must be able to feel the jackhammering of Louis's heart and the tremble in his shoulders. He kisses Louis's forehead. 

Fucking hell, Louis has never been more grateful that he has Niall in his life. He hasn't been touched so kindly in a long time, and never by someone who knew. He could weep. 

"God, how long's this been going on? Does Harry know?"

Louis hides his face in Niall's top. "Harry knows. And it's been going on ages."

"Ages, sort of," Nick says. He's so many miles away. Louis just wants to fold up time and space and be there with him. When Louis looks up again, Nick's got Puppy all bundled up in a hug in his lap, that stupid maple leaf squeaky toy there too. 

"I thought you two hated each other?"

"Nah," Nick says, smiling at him. 

"Only some of the time." Louis uncurls himself from Niall's side and smiles back at Nick. It's a little tentative. "The rest of the time we—"

"Enough." Niall shakes his head. "None of that lovey-dovey stuff. Just the cold, hard facts, thanks. Everyone knows I've got a heart of stone." 

The way he's touching Louis's hand under the covers suggests otherwise. 

"Liar," Louis says, and watches as Nick tells Niall to make sure Louis gets some sleep. Nick's going to go so that Louis can have Niall all to himself, and that's both kind and terrifying. He wants so much to tell Nick he loves him, but even though their secret's starting to be out, Louis still can't say it. "Call you later."

"See you," Nick says, and the screen's going dead. Louis's already texting him, typing in _love you love you love you_ because he can't fucking say it out loud but inside he's screaming with it. 

Niall leaves then, going into the bathroom and coming back with two glasses of water. It's just enough time for Nick to message him _me too_ and for Louis to send back a stream of emojis. 

Niall climbs back into bed with him and hands him a glass of water. "Drink that."

"Why's everyone telling me to drink water all of a sudden?"

"Dunno. Maybe nobody knows what the fuck to do when you look like that."

"Like what?"

"Like I'm a fucking firing squad," Niall says, and he pulls the covers up and over them both. He's staying, then. "Are you really going out with Nick Grimshaw?"

Louis picks at the skin round his fingernails. "Yeah," he says. "I'm not gay, you know. Everyone's going to think that I am, but I'm not."

"Funny way of demonstrating your heterosexuality, going out with a bloke."

"Yeah, well. It is what it is, innit."

"Louis—" 

"I just love Nick. I just want him, all right?" He's close to tears and he doesn't even know why. All those texts out there and no one responding. "I don't know why. I've tried not being with him, all right, and I know everyone thinks I hate him, but I don't. I don't at all. I just love him."

"Fucking hell. How long's this been going on?"

Louis shrugs. "Months, I suppose. But, like, not all the time. Just sometimes. And then not for ages."

"I feel a hundred times clearer," Niall says. "Hey, fuck, don't look like that. Why are you shaking?"

"I don't know. I don't know, all right. I can't stop."

Niall wraps an arm around Louis's shoulders, pulling him in. "It's all right," he says, kissing the top of Louis's head. "I reckon you'll be surprising just about everyone, and, like, they'll be like me and will have had a few beers and not know what to say, but it doesn't mean anything bad."

"Doesn't it?"

Niall shakes his head. He keeps rubbing his hand over Louis's shoulders. "It just means we didn't have a clue. Everyone thought you were straight."

"Yeah, well." He doesn't know how to articulate the mess inside his head. It's going to be all anyone wants from him. Forever. It's all twisted up and confused, though, like someone loosed a hundred balls of string in a gale and somewhere, in amongst the thousands of knots and tangles and the mess are the answers Louis needs and that everyone else wants. There's no bit of Louis that's giving up being straight, but there's just this other part of him that wants to nestle in somewhere too. The part that loves Nick. 

"I thought you hated him."

"No," Louis says. "I did sometimes. Mostly I just wanted him."

"Is this why you've not been sleeping? Is this why you're so tired?"

"Maybe. I don't know. Everything's been in such a mess."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Tell you what? I don't know. There wasn't anything to tell. We weren't together. I'd fucked it all up."

"Christ," Niall says. "You're in a right mess, aren't you?"

Louis's phone hasn't gone off. The gap between him and the people he loves is widening, and it's his fault. "It's all falling apart. I'm trying to keep it together but I don't know if I can."

"You're just tired. It's not as bad as all that." 

Isn't it? Louis is exhausted right down to his bones. He wants his mum to call him. 

"You've just got to let people get used to the fact you like Grimmy's dick."

Louis shivers. He doesn't want anyone thinking about his dick and Nick's in any close proximity. It feels too close to the rest of it, the secrets he's never going to share, all the fucked up stuff in his head he likes to do to get off. The piss stuff and the being pushed around stuff and the desperate, desperate need he has for Nick to take charge and take some of the pressure away. 

"It's probably a very nice dick," Niall goes on. "If you like that kind of thing. Is it?"

Louis isn't up to making jokes about his newly revealed not-quite heterosexuality. He nods instead, trying to hide under the covers, Niall taking his half-empty glass of water. 

"Good," Niall says, and he settles the sheets down around Louis. "You should definitely get some rest so you stop looking like you're half-dead. "You want me to stay here until you fall asleep?"

"Got to wait for people to text me back."

"No," Niall says. "No, you really don't." He has Louis's phone, and he switches it onto _do not disturb_ , showing Louis the little moon icon all in place. He plugs it in by the side of the bed, tucking Louis in and sitting back down on top of the covers. 

"I'm not going to sleep." His limbs feel like splodgy spaghetti. He's suddenly very, very tired indeed. 

"Course you're not. Anyway, your boyfriend told me to make sure you got some sleep, and what kind of mate am I if I ignore the first thing he ever tells me?"

Louis is still trembling. He can't make his muscles stop. He reaches for Niall's wrist, closing his hand around him. "You don't hate me, do you?"

Niall's brow softens. "You're a bit gay, not a murderer. What do you think I'm going to do? Not be your mate anymore?"

"Not gay," Louis says. 

"A bit gay." He pauses. "Hey, do you still think it's called gay sex if one of the people having it isn't gay?"

"Dunno." He keeps his hand on Niall's wrist. "I didn't mean to lie to you. I just didn't know how to say any of it."

"Don't worry about any of that now. We'll talk about it all later. You're all right, Tommo. You're all right."

Louis wants to believe him, but he can't. He's not, is the thing. He's not all right, and he doesn't know how to be. "Stay?"

"'Til you're asleep."

Louis nods. Everything's changed. The world's going to look different in the morning. His home's going to look different, and there's nothing he can do about it. 

"Go to sleep, Louis," Niall says, stroking his hair. He's switched the lights off so that there's just the lamp by the bed on, turned down low. "We've got all the time in the world to figure this shit out. Doesn't have to be now."

"Doesn't it?"

"No," Niall says, and he keeps stroking Louis's hair, and all Louis has wanted for so long is to be touched. 

He doesn't mean to fall asleep, but in the end he does anyway. 

~*~

When Zayn finds him, Louis is sitting on the edge of the swimming pool in the hotel basement, legs dangling in the water. It's half seven in the morning, and Louis's been here for the last hour at least. His toes went pruney a long time ago. 

"Been looking for you everywhere," Zayn says, sitting down next to him and gingerly dangling his legs over the edge. Where Zayn found swimming shorts from, Louis has no idea. Normally Zayn can't be persuaded anywhere near the pool, even if it's the safe, shallow bit. Louis's sitting in the deep end. He's choosing not to focus on what Zayn's doing up this early, and why he's been looking for him. 

"I'm here." Louis kicks his feet a bit. He'd woken up before six, and, unable to deal with finding out what was on his phone, he'd ended up here instead, just thinking. "You found me."

Zayn bumps his elbow into Louis'. "So. You and Nick Grimshaw, then."

"Who told you?"

Zayn makes a face. "Niall. I thought he was joking."

"He wasn't." Louis doesn't know if he's heard from anyone else, not his mum, not Liam, not the other lads at home. His phone is upstairs in his room because he's too scared to look at it and find out if he's lost anyone he'd give his heart and soul for.

"Christ."

"It's all right," Louis says. "I know it's weird."

"Yeah." There's a pause. "Like, are you sure? About this? Because what were all those tweets about? I stood up for you. I don't get how you went from that, to this. To, like, going out with him."

"I was so jealous," Louis says, after a minute of saying nothing. "I've been so fucking jealous. I miss him all the fucking time. Like, every fucking second."

"Jealous? What of?"

"He had this boyfriend." Louis' fingers are going wrinkly now. "He wasn't with me."

"Lou—"

"Don't, okay. I know how awful I was."

"I'm not." Zayn sighs. "I'm worried, that's all. It's Nick Grimshaw, and a couple of weeks ago he had a boyfriend, and you hated him, and you've been weird all tour, and now you're going out with him? You can see why we're confused."

"I love him," Louis says, softly. "I love him so much it makes my fucking chest hurt, okay, and it's been ages, all right? It's not new. I've been sleeping with him for months."

"In secret," Zayn says. "Behind everyone's backs. Behind Harry's back. And he had a boyfriend?"

"No," Louis says. "It's not how you think. None of it's how you think. He didn't have a boyfriend, not when we were... God, I don't know what we were. He was the one who wanted us to be together properly. He was the one who wanted to tell Harry. I was the one who told him no. I was the one who told him I didn't want him. It's not Nick's fucking fault he tried to move on."

"I'm just worried," Zayn says, slowly. "You can see why we're worried, right? This is completely out of nowhere."

"I love him," Louis says, again. "And he loves me."

Zayn doesn't say anything for a while. Zayn does go quiet, though. He likes to think. "I still don't get it. How long have you been lying to us?"

This hurts. It hurts. "I don't know," Louis says finally. "Which bit are you talking about?"

Zayn laughs at that. "Fuck, Lou. I don't know. About being gay. Let's just start with that one."

"I'm not gay," Louis says. He can still look at a girl and think, _I'd do that_. He's not gay. He's going to have to keep saying that, over and over, and no one's ever going to believe him. 

"Whatever you are, then."

"I don't know," Louis says. "I don't know what I am."

"But cock sometimes, right? Otherwise you wouldn't be going out with Nick fucking Grimshaw now."

Louis shrugs a shoulder. It's as close as anyone is going to get to him articulating his sexuality. 

"Fuck," Zayn says. "All right, let's start with that. How long have you sometimes liked cock?"

Louis shakes his head. He's been hiding this for so long. He's so tired. "How long? I don't know. Since before the first time I met you, I don't know. Forever? Always. I don't know, all right. It doesn't mean anything."

Zayn just looks desperately, desperately sad. "Lou."

"Don't, okay. Just don't. I didn't want to think about it, and I didn't want to fucking like cock, for fuck's sake."

"What's wrong with liking cock?" Zayn asks, gentle, and Louis hates that people have to be gentle with him. He fucking hates it. And it's one thing for Zayn to be like this with him, but it's another thing for Louis to like dick when they're out, or with other people. He doesn't want people to look at him differently. Treat him differently. They already are. 

"It's not like I like cock. I just like Nick's. I don't know." He's getting confused. His head's a mess.

"No, but really," Zayn says. "What did you think people would say?"

"I don't know. The same kinds of things you're saying now. The same things Harry said. The fact that you're trying to fit me back together like some fucking puzzle box because there's just this giant fucking lie that won't fit with what you think about me."

"It's weird, all right? Trying to figure out who you are."

"I'm the same fucking person I was yesterday, or last month, or last year, or when we were at fucking boot camp. You just didn't know that was me."

"Louis."

"I hate this. I hate it. I hate the way you're looking at me and the way Niall looked at me and the way Harry won't look at me. I hate it. It's not fair. I tried so fucking hard and it wasn't enough, I still love him. I tried so hard not to want him and it didn't work. It just didn't work, and it's not fucking fair that it feels like this."

"Lou—"

Louis shakes his head. He's near to tears for the hundred millionth time and he can't fucking cope with another person seeing him cry. He gets out of the pool and walks towards the door, grabbing his Vans and his t-shirt and hoodie as he passes the bench he'd left them on. He doesn't look back to see if Zayn's following. He doesn't care. He just wants it all to stop. 

Alberto's waiting outside the door to the pool. He hands Louis a towel. His presence might explain why no-one but Zayn had come in for the last hour; Louis hadn't even known he was there. 

"I'm not gay," Louis says. 

Alberto nods. "I know," he says. "You all right?"

"No," Louis says. "But then, you fucking knew that before. Now other people do too."

Alberto claps a hand to Louis's shoulder, thumb pressing in. "You're all right," he says, as Louis wraps the towel around him and shoves wet feet into his checkerboard Vans. He pulls his hoodie on. "I know it doesn't feel like it, but you're all right."

"I need to go and find my phone."

Alberto is a good guy, and he knows when to keep quiet. "Come on, then," he says finally, and they go in the direction of lifts in silence. 

Liam's waiting for him outside his hotel room, hovering around with his phone in his hand, guilty puppy dog expression so strong that Louis can only roll his eyes. He's either been tipped off by someone that Louis was heading upstairs—Alberto or Zayn are the main suspects, but Alberto looks decidedly expressionless—or he's been hanging around Louis's room for a while, waiting for him to turn up. 

Louis has had barely any sleep, his world is being held up around him by force of will alone, and Liam means everything to him. If he could go the rest of his life without ever having to talk about any of this, it would be too soon.

Alberto is having some kind of silent conversation with Liam over Louis's head. There's a pause, then Alberto says, "I'm going to get some coffee, if you're not planning on running off somewhere you might need me?" 

Louis folds his arms and looks down at the ground. He is not a fucking child, and he might be fucking everything up but he doesn't need to be shepherded round like this. He doesn't snap. It's close. He shoves his hands in the pockets of his hoodie instead. 

It's Liam who answers. "We're fine here. We'll ring if we need you."

Louis fumbles for his room card. "Yeah," he echoes, even though inside there's nothing he'd rather do than run for the fucking hills. High ones, somewhere he can scream out all of his frustration and fear and not be scared someone's watching or listening so they can steal all his secrets. 

He lets himself in, and Liam follows him inside, leaning against the wall as Louis kicks off his trainers, ignoring the wet hem of his shorts as he throws himself on the bed. God, he feels like the walking fucking dead. How do people function on this little sleep and not fall over from it? These last few weeks have been the fucking worst. 

"You didn't answer my messages," Liam says, not moving from the side of the TV. "I've been texting and texting."

"My phone was up here," Louis says, without removing his face from the pillow. "What are you here to say?"

"Nick Grimshaw?" Liam asks finally. 

"Christ, Niall's got a big fucking mouth." He rolls onto his side. 

"We were worried."

"Yeah, well, don't bother. I'm not gay, but I'm still going out with Nick. You can stop worrying now." He wants to lash out, snap at everyone, see if he can't make people feel just one iota of what he's been feeling. He's terrified. Liam's snuck inside of him, loyal and gentle and sweet and obedient in a way that the others aren't. At the beginning he'd been the worst: serious and hardworking and always frowning when Louis messed around. It had taken Louis a while to recognise that Liam was as scared as he was. It had taken him even longer to figure out how desperately lonely Liam was, and when he'd realised that, Louis had been determined to make Liam know how great he was, how wanted, how needed, and never let him forget it. 

The problem was, he was mostly wanted and needed by Louis, and Louis kept fucking things up. 

"Why didn't you tell me?" Liam asks finally, still leaning up against the wall. 

"About what?"

"That you're gay? I don't know. That you had all this shit going on. I thought we were friends."

Louis doesn't say _I'm not gay_. He'll be saying that over and over forever. "I don't know. There was nothing to tell. I haven't seen him in ages."

Liam's brow furrows. "Then why... Are you not going out with him, then? I thought you were going out with him. I thought you hated him." 

"I don't hate him." He rolls over onto his back. "I don't hate him at all."

"Why did you do those tweets, then? I don't get it."

Louis shrugs. "I wanted him to notice me. He was happy and he'd moved on and he'd left me behind, and I wanted him to fucking notice me, because that's the kind of dick I am."

Liam sits down carefully at the end of the bed, by Louis's bare, still damp feet. "It worked, then."

"No," Louis says. "All it did was make me look like a twat."

"I don't get it. I still don't know if you're joking, or what."

"I'm not." Louis is exhausted. He misses Nick like a constant, desperate ache, like there's a bit of him missing and it's the part he left with Nick, months ago, and he never thought he'd get back. "I've never been more serious about anything in my life."

"You say that when you're not serious."

Louis closes his eyes so that he doesn't have to see the furrow between Liam's brow. Louis is in love, he's tipping his whole life upside down, and one of his best mates in the whole fucking world doesn't know if he's joking or not. "What do you want me to say?"

"I don't know. That it's a joke, maybe? One I'm not getting, but, like, even that makes more sense then this."

"Which bit's confusing for you?"

Liam sighs. "If it's true," he says finally, "how did it even start?"

"I fancied him. I fancied him for ages, then we were fighting at a party because he was being a knob, then, you know, like, we were kissing."

"Grimmy, though. You don't even like each other."

"I do. Christ, how the fuck am I supposed to make everyone else believe it's true if I can't make you believe it? I fucking love him, all right? I love him."

"Louis."

Louis sits up, pulling his knees up to his chest. He presses the heels of his hands to his eyes. "He looks after me," he says in the end, without taking his hands away from his eyes. It's the first time he's ever said it out loud, this desperate need he has that Nick can go some way to fixing for him. "He loves me."

"We love you. You don't need to fuck around with Nick Grimshaw just because he looks after you. We can look after you if you'll let us. We've been worried all tour."

"It's not fucking around," Louis says, and he looks up then. All of his limbs feel heavy. His relationship with Harry is fractured and broken, and Zayn and Liam don't get it. "I'm going to go home to him. I'm counting the fucking minutes until I can see him again, and nothing you or Zayn says is going to change that. He's my boyfriend." Christ, that word. _Boyfriend_. His fingers shake. "Nick's my boyfriend." It sounds weirdly foreign on his tongue and he can't make it sound right in his head. In a way it doesn't matter, because it remains true: Nick is his, and he's going home to him, and when that happens the rest of the world will fade away and all of this will fix itself. It has to. 

He doesn't look at Liam. He can't. He grabs his phone from the bedside table instead, unlocking it and scrolling to his messages. There are four missed calls from his mum that he ignores, opening the messages from Stan first. 

_Ha ha funny joke mate_ , the first one says. _Your never a puff tho_

His stomach rolls. 

"Lou," Liam says. "Everything okay?"

"Course," Louis says, without looking up. He chews on his thumbnail. "Why the fuck wouldn't everything be perfect? You're reacting just as I was hoping you'd react, obviously everyone else is too."

"Louis, please."

Louis ignores him, scrolling down through Stan's messages. There's an interlude of an hour before his next message, which just says _you are joking right mate._ Then, _course you are you would have told us if you were a puffter. Ha ha maybe you really were shagging harry all this time ha_

It's been longer than Louis cares to remember since he's been called a poof. He scrolls down. There's another half hour before Stan's next message. _On the off chance your not joking and this is for real then your still my mate even if you do like it up the arse :)_

Then later still, _I'll be happy if your happy._

He texts back _its not a joke hope we can still be mates_. There's no immediate answer back, but Louis has no idea what time it is back home. Night time, probably. He barely knows what time it is here, let alone somewhere half the world away. 

There aren't any texts from his mum, just the missed calls. 

"Louis, please," Liam says. "I'm just trying to understand."

"You're not," Louis says. "You're deliberately trying not to understand."

"It's not like that at all."

There's a knock on Louis's door, and Louis makes no move to go and answer it. In the end, it's Liam that goes, and he comes back in with Zayn, still in his swim shorts but with a hoodie over the top and his trainers on. 

"Hi," Zayn says a little awkwardly. 

"Hi," Louis says. "Have you come back to tell me again how it isn't true? You can Liam can join forces, be the dream fucking team. If you'd like, you can be the second and third people to call me a poof this morning. Like a special treat for me."

"Fucking hell," Zayn says. "Louis."

"What?"

"We're trying. It's not our fault you've sprung this on us out of fucking nowhere."

"Whatever." Louis hasn't got the energy for fighting over this. He'd always known that this was how it was going to fall out. No amount of hoping it would go a different way would ever have changed the inevitable. He doesn't get everything he wants. 

"Have you eaten anything?" Liam asks, after a minute. 

Louis shakes his head. He can't remember the last time he ate. 

"Let's go and get some breakfast. You and me and Zayn."

Louis shoots a glance towards Zayn. He has his hands in the pocket of his hoody. "You sure you want to? Breakfast with the poof?"

Zayn doesn't look away. "You've sprung this on us. Doesn't mean we're going to call you names."

Louis drops his eyes first. He's so tired. He wants Nick. He wants his boyfriend. 

"We'll never call you names like that," Liam says. He looks hurt. 

Louis can't be doing with that. 

"No," he says, standing up and pulling his hoodie up over his head so he can put his t-shirt on underneath. "But you'll tell me you don't believe me and look at me like you don't know who I am anymore. Not completely different, is it?" He puts his hoodie back on. There's a hollow in his chest where there hadn't been one before. It hurts. "Right then. Weren't we doing breakfast? Going on like normal, aren't we? Breakfast with the poof, only we're not calling him that. Doesn't matter what I say I am, does it? Still going to be the gay one, even if I'm not fucking gay."

He makes for the door, ignoring the way Liam and Zayn are having a silent conversation behind him. He's angry, burning up from the inside, ashamed at having to talk about his sex life and the man he's in love with, furious at them for not making it easy for him, and underneath it all, furious with himself for turning out to be exactly what he's always tried not to be—the gay one, the effete one, the queer one that likes to sing and be on stage. He's fought the stereotypes his entire life and it turns out it never fucking mattered anyway; whatever he is on the inside makes no fucking difference to how people want to see him on the outside, and now he's bought into the stereotypes, and every single person who ever believed them. 

He's so tired. His arms and legs ache. 

They pick up Alberto on the way down to the restaurant, the four of them standing in silence, Louis fuming as he stares down at his phone. Still nothing back from Stan, which means he's probably asleep, and nothing from his mum except those four missed calls. There's a message from Nick, though, a _love you xx see you in just a few days and this will all be worth while xx_

Louis is pretty fucking sure that isn't true. The one thing he does know is that he's desperately sure he doesn't want Nick to know it's not going well. He texts Nick back.

\- _Liam and zayn taking me for breakfast_  
_\- Lots of hugs_  
_\- Am all hugged out_

Then afterwards, the only grain of truth, because missed calls don't count: 

\- _Still nothing from mum_

They've got a private dining room at the hotel this morning, and when they get there, Harry's already there with Lou and Lux, Harry chopping up a banana into a bowl for a sleepy Lux. 

Lou comes over and wraps her arms around Louis's neck. "Morning," she says, kissing his cheek. "You happy, Mr I've-got-a-secret-boyfriend?"

Christ. He tugs her into a hug, fingertips lost in her shirt. "You know who it is?"

She nods, but doesn't pull away. "He treating you right?" 

Louis lets out a breath. It sounds a little desperate. "Yeah," he says, and his voice catches. "He's good to me."

"I'm glad," she says, and she ignores everyone else in favour of tugging Louis over to the refreshment table, keeping his hand in hers as she makes him tea. "They're surprised," she says finally, when she's adding milk from the jug to his teacup, and no one has followed them over. "Give them a bit of time to get their heads round it all."

"I don't want to," he says, moving past the fruit bowl to take a couple of mini packets of cereal instead. He has to let go of Lou's hand to load himself up, and the very last thing he wants to do is go over to where everyone else is sitting down. "I don't want to wait it out while they figure out if it's okay for me to do this or not. It's not fair."

"I know," she says. "I'm sorry." She smiles a little ruefully, because Lux is calling for her, a pile of slices banana balanced awkwardly on her little spoon. "Tell Nick I should yell at him for not telling me sooner. I saw him before we came out here, you know."

"I will," he says, and there's no space to sit down by Lou and Lux, so he takes the other end of the table too, the one where no one else is sitting. He mixes his three packets of cereal into one bowl, pouring milk on top, keeping his eye on his phone. He's not hungry and his world's falling down around him and he doesn't know what to do other than just keep pretending it's okay. 

Maybe his life choices really were an either/or, and he hadn't realised before today. It was too late now, anyway; he'd told them all about him and Nick, and it was out there. He'd got hard for a guy and people knew about it. His friends knew about it. 

He'd always thought that the fear was supposed to go away if he did something terrifying; the worst part was supposed to be doing it. The worst part wasn't supposed to be the fall out. It wasn't supposed to be sitting alone in a room full of his best friends in the world. 

Figures. 

He's so engrossed in his cereal he doesn't notice someone sitting down next to him until Paul claps him on the shoulder. 

"Morning, trouble," he says. 

Louis forces a smile, resting his spoon in his bowl. "You going to tell me you don't believe me either?" He makes a face. "Because it's not a lie."

"Didn't say it was," Paul says. He steals Louis's cup of tea, dumping two spoonfuls of sugar in it even before Louis's had a chance to steal it back. "Got a boyfriend, huh? Someone here, or someone back home?"

Louis glances towards the other end of the table. There's a conspicuous quiet, the others awkwardly trying to make conversation between themselves. Harry's playing with Lux and not looking at him. "You're the only one Niall hasn't told, then."

"Maybe. Thought maybe you could be the one to tell me what you wanted to tell me."

"You stole my tea, you fucker."

"I did." 

"It's Nick Grimshaw." 

The flicker that crosses Paul's face suggests he really hadn't known who it was. 

Louis shakes his head, speaking before Paul has a chance to. "Don't ask me if I'm lying, or joking, or anything else. I'm not. I just—" His voice catches a little. "I don't think I can deal with someone else not believing me, all right? Just pretend you do. Fucking pretend, all right?" He has to blink away tears, and he hates this, hates that he can't keep it on the inside where it belongs. 

"I believe you," Paul says, and the hole in Louis's chest fucking aches, because secretly, in his heart of hearts, this is how he'd wanted Liam and Zayn to react. 

"Real or pretend?"

"Real," Paul says. He nods towards the other end of the table. "The others being all right with you?"

Louis shrugs. He feels wound up tight, his chest aching with it.

Paul nods. "All right. They'll come round."

"Great," Louis snaps. "I can't wait for them to be all right with who I'm in love with. Their approval's what I fucking live for."

"Louis."

Louis shrugs again. "Doesn't matter, all right? It's whatever. Whatever. It's fine."

"It'll be all right."

"Yeah." Louis laughs. Nothing's funny. "Bring us a cup of tea, will you? Least you can do if you've nicked my tea is bring me another one."

Paul claps him on the back as he stands up to go back over to the refreshment table, and Louis shoves his hands under the table so that no one can see how much they're shaking. 

He can't fucking breathe. 

It's Niall who brings him his tea in the end, coming over and dropping down into the seat next to him. 

"That's Paul's seat," Louis says, without properly looking up. He's trying to concentrate on breathing in and out. If he does that, maybe he won't cry. It's not fucking fair. 

"Now it's mine," Niall says. "Tea's up." He pushes a mug towards him. "Did you sleep all right?"

"For a bit," Louis says. "Thanks for telling everyone about me and Nick, by the way."

Niall bumps his knee into Louis's under the table. "Just Zayn and Liam."

"And Lou." 

"Saved you a job, didn't I?" Niall says, but it's framed as an apology, gentle and quiet. "I thought you might need our support. We're a team, aren't we? A team."

"Dunno about that." Louis isn't thirsty anymore. "No one believes me."

Niall wraps an arm around Louis's shoulders. "We all believe you," he says, ruffling Louis's hair. "Even knobheads who say it differently. You've got yourself a boyfriend and we all believe you."

Louis doesn't say anything to that. There's nothing to say. His cereal's going mushy and normally he likes it like that, but today he doesn't want to eat anything. He's not entirely sure he can keep it down even if he did eat it; his insides feel like an earthquake, every bit of him shaking. "I want to go home," he says finally, when Niall hasn't moved away. "I want to go home."

Niall nudges Louis's cereal towards him. "Just a few more days. Then we'll be on our way back."

Louis nods, staring down at his plate. The world weighs heavy on him. He's so fucking tired. 

"Eat your breakfast," Niall says. "Promised Nick I'd look after you, didn't I? Eat up."

Louis tries to smile, but it's unlikely it meets his eyes. 

~*~

He crawls back into bed when he gets back upstairs to his room, taking his phone with him so he can text Nick. 

_\- Harry n niall came to breakfast to_  
_\- And paul and lou_  
_\- Lou says she's going to yell at you for not telling her_

He pulls the covers up over his shoulders as protection against the ice cold air conditioning. 

_\- Stan says he had no idea I was a puff and did I ever shag harry_

Louis lets out a breath, faking a smile that no one's here to see. 

_\- He says he's happy if I'm happy_  
_\- Still nothing from mum_

He needs to fucking call her. He needs to stop being a fucking coward and call his mum. If he hasn't got a home to go back to then at least he should know about it, even if it's the middle of the night back home and he's waking her up. 

_\- Gonna call her_

His mum is the most important person in the world to him, and just the idea of having put her in a position where she might have to compromise to continue to love him breaks his fucking heart. 

He gets out of bed and goes over to the mini bar to see what they've got. He can't make the phone call without even a little bit of Dutch courage helping him along; he's definitely not brave enough for that. 

He's still carrying the Jack Daniels miniature when he goes to see who's knocking at his door.

"Bit early for that, isn't it?" Liam asks, which is a bit hypocritical of Liam since he's mostly spent the past few months in a haze of protein shakes and drunken nights out. 

"Nope," Louis says. "Gotta ring my mum, haven't I? If she reacts anything like the rest of you I'll fucking need a shot. Probably need the whole fucking bottle."

Liam shuts the hotel room door after him, and plucks the bottle out of Louis's hand. "No," he says. "Don't—your mum loves you. You don't need alcohol to talk to her."

Louis rolls his eyes, but goes to sit on the bed. "What are you doing here, anyway? Did you forget to tell me something about not believing me? Something you didn't cover the first time?"

Liam sits down next to him. "No. I mean. I'm surprised, all right? That there's this big thing about you that I didn't know. I thought we told each other stuff like that. The big stuff. Then I find out you've been carrying on with someone for months and months, and it's Grimmy? Like, it's all right that that's a surprise. And you're kind of being a bit of a dick about the fact it's taking us more than four seconds to accept you've been hiding something from us."

"This is great," Louis says. "I'm really enjoying this. Shall we do it again? Maybe we can do it straight after my mum tells me she doesn't love me anymore, how about that? I've got a gap in my schedule. Could probably fit you in."

Liam's shoulders drop. "It's not—" He sighs. "Your mum's going to be fine."

"I thought you were going to be fine," Louis says, but the reality is, he's always known that if it ever got out that he liked cock, everything was going to change. Wishing for it all to have gone okay was a stupid dream and he'd been an idiot for even hoping for it. "Look how that turned out."

"You make it sound like we're all homophobic dickheads. It's not about you being gay—"

"I'm not fucking gay."

"Well, whatever you are that means you've got a boyfriend," Liam persists, like Louis's world isn't tumbling down around him. "You're my best mate and I am going to support you, and I'm always going to support you, but that doesn't mean this isn't a big surprise."

"I tried not to," Louis says finally, looking down at his nails. He scratches his thigh. He's still wearing his shorts, but they've dried off at the hem from where he'd sat on the edge of the pool earlier. "I tried and I tried not to want him. Every time I left him I told myself I wasn't going back."

"What made you?"

Louis shrugs. "Couldn't stop. Just, like, needed to go back."

"I didn't know you were even friends."

"I don't know if we are."

"Louis—"

"It doesn't mean I don't love him and he doesn't love me." He felt embarrassed talking about it. He fiddles with his shorts. He's bitten his nails down to the quick. "I don't know how to explain it, all right? I just know that breaking up with him, I mean, we weren't properly together, but like, whatever it was we did so we weren't, like, together anymore, like, breaking up or whatever, it's been shit. It's been so fucking shit, and I miss him so much, and I don't know how to do any of this."

"What happened between you two?"

Louis shrugs again. "I don't know. He gets me. We just used to, like, see each other sometimes." He goes red, hoping that none of what he and Nick used to get up is telegraphed on his face. The idea of anyone knowing how much Louis needs to be pinned down and pushed around and made to come is way too much for him to even consider. 

"I didn't think you liked him much."

"I do," Louis says. "I like him so much. I love him." He takes a breath. "I'm in love with him."

"You haven't seen him in a while, though."

"I know. Doesn't change anything."

"I'm worried, that's all. I'm just... this has come out of nowhere, Louis. That's what I'm worried about."

"You don't need to worry," Louis says, even though he probably does. Everything is so fucking close to the edge that one stray breath and it could all come crashing down. 

"Is he making you do this? Come out before you get home? Is this what you want?"

"Fuck off," Louis says. "He's what I want. He's what I want more than anything. Liam, fuck. Please don't do this. I'm so tired."

It's a long moment before Liam nods. "I'm sorry." Then, "Are you going to ring your mum?"

"After I've had a shot." He's got his phone out, checking for texts from Nick. There aren't any. 

Liam shakes his head. "Don't touch the minibar. Promise me. Do you want company?"

"Fine. But no, I don't need company." If Louis is going to lose a part of his family today, then he doesn't want observers. He texts Nick, _Liam says I can't have a shot first._

"I'll use your loo and then I'll go, then. But you can ring me after, if you need?"

Louis nods, and he waits until Liam's in the bathroom before he gets the bottle of vodka out of the bag down the side of his bed and uncaps it, trying to take a quick swig before Liam's finished pissing. 

"Fucking hell, Louis."

"Wash your fucking hands, dickhead," Louis says. He wipes his mouth and tries to put the lid back on the vodka. He texts Nick again, _had one anyway when he was in the loo_. 

"Where'd you get that from?"

Louis indicates the rucksack half-hidden under the bed. 

"Jesus, what the fuck's been going on with you?" Liam shakes his head. "You can't keep vodka under the bed."

"I'm not," Louis says, trying not to sound sulky. 

"Secrets are bad," Liam says, grabbing the bottle. He's a bit fixated on hidden alcohol. Louis should probably go into that with him at some point, but not right now. "I'm taking this."

"Don't drink it," Louis says, because there's a pretty good chance he's going to need that after ringing his mum. 

"We've got a show tonight, you can't get drunk."

"I know, I know. And Japan tomorrow."

Liam lets out a breath. He leans in and tugs Louis into a hug. "You're still my best mate."

"Even if I like Nick Grimshaw's cock."

"Even if you like his cock."

Louis tries to smile. He can't. He waits until Liam's left before he goes into the bathroom to splash his face with water. His reflection is shapes hewn out of lies and secrets and exhaustion. 

He barely recognises himself. 

~*~

His mum answers sleepily after a few rings. He's not sure entirely how middle of the night it is right now for her, but he suspects quite a lot. 

"Hiya, Mum," he says softly. 

"Oh, Louis," she says, and she's crying before he's even had a chance to say anything else. "What haven't you been telling me?"

His shoulders slump. "I'm sorry," he says. "I'm so sorry."

"What's this about a boyfriend, baby?" He can hear her moving around, hear Dan in the background. He'd sort of forgotten that telling his mum meant telling Dan too. He's not sure how Dan's going to take his girlfriend having a gay son. 

He's not gay. 

"Mum, I'm sorry." He wipes his nose on the sleeve of his hoodie. He can feel his chest getting tighter. He rubs at his ribs with his fist. "I didn't mean to."

"Mean to what? What's happened? I tried ringing you and ringing you."

"Niall put my phone on silent. Then I was too scared to check."

"Louis. What kind of mess have you got yourself in?"

"No mess," he says. "Or the worst one, I don't know."

"A boyfriend, sweetheart."

"Yeah." He brings his knees up to his chest. "I really love him, Mum."

"Okay," she says, a little quietly. "Well that's one thing. How does he feel about you?"

"The same."

"Has it been going on for long?" They're stilted with each other in a way that they never are. He already hates the distance.

"Sort of. It's been a bit complicated."

She takes a breath. "Are you gay, sweetheart? Is this what you're telling me?"

He shakes his head. "No," he says. 

"Bisexual, then?"

"I don't know." His sexuality and how to define it sits heavy in his chest. Everyone wants a piece of his definition but he just doesn't fucking know. 

"You're not giving me much to go on."

"Some things are just hard to say." He swallows, biting at his nail again. There's nothing left to bite. His hand's shaking. "Mum," he says finally, and his heart feels like it's breaking anew. "Mum, can I still come home?"

Her breath catches. "Oh god," she says. "Oh, baby, of course you can. Why would you think for a second that you couldn't?"

"I don't know. I thought maybe..." He stops. "It changes things, doesn't it?"

"A little bit," she says. "I think you and me maybe have a lot to talk about."

"Are you angry with me?"

"For not telling me, maybe. I didn't know you had feelings for boys."

All these years. All this time. "I do."

There's quiet for a moment. She's still sniffling. "I don't like not knowing things about you. I don't like secrets. I'm upset you didn't tell me."

"Please don't be mad at me. I can't—" He stops. "I'm so tired, Mum. I'm so tired and I want to come home."

"Is he there with you? This boyfriend of yours."

He shakes his head. She can't see that. "No," he says finally. "He's at home."

"Well, that's good," she says. "It makes it easier for me to meet him." 

There's a pause. "What?"

"You could bring him up, if you wanted." She only sounds a little bit like she's trying too hard. "I'd like to meet him."

"Mum—"

"It hurts a bit," she says. "I thought we told each other everything. I don't know even know this boy's name."

"It's Nick," he says finally. He can't bear to reveal the rest. He wants to crawl into a hole and not come out. He never wants to have to deal with any of this ever again. He's always wished that he never liked dick, but never so much as he has today. 

"Do I know him?"

"Not personally." He swallows. "It's Nick Grimshaw, Mum."

There's silence. "Are you messing with me?"

"No. He's my boyfriend."

"It's the middle of the night, darling."

"Do you want to go back to bed?"

"I want you to come home so we can talk properly. Just you and me."

That doesn't sound particularly good. "Mum."

"It's all a bit of a shock, that's all. Not often you get this kind of news in the middle of the night."

"Right." He doesn't want to ask again, but he can't let her go without it. "It doesn't change things, does it? That it's Nick? I can still come home?"

"Always," she says, and she's crying again. "Never doubt it for a moment."

When he ends the call, Louis sits on the floor by the bathroom door and cries his eyes out. Everything's changed, and he wants to go home, and he doesn't know if it's going to be the same when he gets there. 

~*~

He texts Nick as they're leaving for the venue after lunch, hiding in the back of the car with Alberto in the front seat. 

_\- Mum cried n told me she loved me_  
_\- She wants me to come home_  
_\- I want to come home_  
_\- Want to come home to you_  
_\- Sorry for all the texts xx_  
_\- Going to try an early night after the show tonight_  
_\- Will call you when I wake up x_  
_\- Mum says she wants to meet you_

The only thing Nick has ever asked of him is for the two of them to be out to their friends and families. The only thing, and Louis is going to give him that if it kills him. 

Living it doesn't make it any the less gut-churningly terrifying, though. It doesn't mean that he isn't destroying everything he loves. 

He hates this. He wants to go home. 

~*~

Louis doesn't sleep on the flight over to Japan. He drinks Coke and kicks the back of Liam's chair and stands in the toilet with his pants pulled down just enough that he can see the maple leaf tattoo in the little mirror. He strokes two fingers over it, stretching out the skin so that it's misshapen and weird. 

It's there for good, even now, even after everything. 

"You okay?" Harry asks, once he gets back to his seat. He's sitting cross-legged in his little first class bed, earphones hanging round his neck. He's holding a book and a notebook. There's a whisky on his table.

They haven't really talked since Louis had come out.

Louis nods. "Fine," he says. Nausea sits heavy in his belly, fear twisting around his inside so that it coats everything, like there's nothing more to him but sheer, unadulterated terror. He bumps his hand into the back of Harry's seat. "I'm fine."

"Lou—"

"I'm sorry," Louis says softly, even though no one's listening. No one's around to listen. 

"What for?"

Louis doesn't know how to put it into words. "All of it," he says finally. "Everything."

Harry just nods. He taps his pen against his notebook. "It'll fade," he says. "This bruise. It'll fade."

Louis chews his lip. "Soon?" 

Harry makes the kind of noise that could mean yes or no. He looks sorry about it, at least. 

"I never meant—" Louis pauses. "I didn't mean to hurt anyone. Neither did Nick."

"You hurt me," Harry says softly. "You both lied to me."

"I didn't mean to." His voice is small. 

"I know. I know that."

He wants to explain, wants to untangle some of the mess inside of his head and hand it over for someone to hold and take care of and look after, but he doesn't know how. There's too much in there he's ashamed of, too much that doesn't make any sense, too much that hurts. 

In the end, he nods, then goes back to his seat. 

Just a couple more days and he's going home to Nick. He can do this. He can. He _can_. Just a couple more days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm missing half of me when we're apart  
> Now you know me  
> For your eyes only.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis comes home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to **camiii** , **takhallus** , and **sommerfuglvinge** for their beta help. Thank you to the other people who read this along the way - it's been tough going, and I've appreciated it. Any remaining mistakes are my own. 
> 
> The playlist for this story is ridiculous, and growing, but if you want an audio accompaniment to this chapter that isn't the whole playlist, may I recommend [Megan Davies' See You Again, Love Me Like You Do, Sugar](https://open.spotify.com/album/598yk60jws90rsCDHU4lkl). Or maybe [this one if you fancy a slow one.](https://open.spotify.com/track/3lyLqIn8mybyEFTs8JJaLf)
> 
> Watersports in this chapter. You can skip them if you want to.

**November 2013**

The flight back to London is interminable. Twelve hours and forty five minutes is long enough at the best of times, but today time feels like it's slowing down, stretching out like elastic, the slow pull trying to keep Louis away from Nick for just that little bit longer. 

He can't keep still. He's vibrating fit to burst. Fear and hope and excitement and terror clang together in his chest like church bells in a hurricane; nausea sits heavy in his stomach. He's going home to Nick and he's going home to his family and he's going home a different person to the one that left in September. He's going back in love with a man, and there's no promise that anything is going to be the same now. 

He picks at the skin by his thumbnail. There's a glass of Jack Daniels sitting on his little tray table - the glass is sweating, the ice melting. He taps his fingernail against the cup. First class is quiet and dark for the most part, but Louis can't sleep. He can't do anything. Even the after-effects of the end of tour party the previous night haven't been enough to put him to sleep. Not like Zayn, who's been sacked out from the moment they got on the plane. He hadn't even waited until he could make his first class cubby into a bed. Or Niall, who's been snoring since the seatbelt sign had flashed off. 

It feels like everyone's asleep but him. 

Louis's leg jiggles and he draws it up to his chest to try and make the relentless shaking stop, resting his chin on his knee. He can't face the exhausted frustration of trying to make a choice of things to watch on the in-flight entertainment, but he's got _Iron Man_ on his iPad so maybe he'll watch that for the eight hundredth time. It's not like he's going to be paying particular attention, anyway. 

He's going home to Nick and he's so nervous and hyped up about seeing him again that he might throw up. 

The cabin's in darkness and he just wants to sleep, but his brain's been on overdrive for days and it's not even worth trying anymore. He swallows down his Jack Daniels. He's not going to get any proper rest until after he sees Nick again, so there's no point even trying. He loads up _Iron Man_ instead, but the titles have barely finished when Liam comes to sit down on the end of his bed. 

Louis pauses the film, pulling his Bose headphones down until they're round his neck. "Hey."

Liam bumps his hand against Louis's socked foot. Things have been a little awkward between all of them since Australia, an odd kind of tension that nobody's acknowledging. 

"You okay?" Liam asks. 

Louis manages half a smile. He's tired and he's scared and nothing's turned out the way he'd wanted it to. "Yeah," he says. "I'm fine." He's not, but there's a benefit in pretending that he can't ignore. 

"You looking forward to seeing Nick?"

Louis looks up at that. None of them have really mentioned Nick in the few days they've been in Japan. The specifics of Louis coming out have remained behind them in Australia, like a black hole has swallowed up the information that Louis's fairly sure he put out there, only no one's acknowledging it since they left the southern hemisphere. "You really want to know?" he asks, and trying to keep the bitter edge out of his voice doesn't exactly work. 

Liam looks a little sad. _Good_ , Louis thinks savagely, and sometimes it's like he can turn how he feels about himself outwards, like knights spinning round and drawing swords, and right now they're pointed towards Liam. He kicks his toes into Liam's thigh. 

"Yeah, course I want to know." 

"You didn't want to know last night or the night before," Louis says. First class is blessedly half empty, the seats directly surrounding Louis unoccupied, but he keeps his voice pitched low anyway. 

"I didn't know how to bring it up."

Louis tries to laugh. "I don't know either. You think I know what the fuck I'm doing?"

"You've at least had more time than I have to get my head round it."

Louis still hasn't got his head around it. He's not sure he'll ever get his head around how he feels for Nick, or how that fits into the rest of his life. How it could ever fit properly. It's always going to be a case of what he has to give up to have what he wants. Not fair, really, but he's picked Nick and it's already turning into him making a grab for anything he can keep a hold of before it slides away. He picks at his sock, stretching out the toe bit before letting it go. 

"If you're not sure, Lou—"

Louis rolls his eyes. "I'm a hundred per cent sure. Doesn't mean I've got my head around it."

"Do you miss him?"

Louis stares at him. It's such a stupid fucking question. Nick has managed to fix himself so irrevocably inside of him that sometimes being apart feels like a physical fucking ache. The way he's missed him these past few weeks feels like it's been so obvious that satellites could have picked it up from space. It's screamed inside of Louis's head for so fucking long. The very idea that the people around him haven't been able to tell borders on ridiculous.

"Louis."

Louis jerks his head. It's an approximation of a nod. "So much," he says finally, softly. "I miss him so much."

"When are you seeing him?"

"He's coming over after he's finished on the radio." It feels so weird talking about Nick out loud. It should be secret. It's always been secret.

"Not long, then," Liam says. 

"Feels like forever."

Liam offers him a smile. "It isn't. I promise."

Louis pulls the aeroplane blanket over his knees. "Are we okay?" he asks finally, refusing to meet Liam's eyes. 

"Course we are," Liam says. 

There's so much more Louis wants to be told. There's so much more that he needs, but it's the middle of the night. It's dark outside and in a few hours they'll be in London and Louis will get to see Nick. If he doesn't fuck it up first, he'll be touched. He'll be held. Nick will hold him down and make him come and kiss him and Louis's desperate for it. "I thought it'd go different. I mean, like, I never thought I'd ever have to do it. Tell you about Nick. I thought I'd fucked it up so badly he'd never want me back, but, like... I thought telling you would go different."

"I'm sorry," Liam says, and he wraps his hand around Louis's ankle. "It was just a surprise."

"Doesn't mean I don't wish it had gone different."

"I didn't know what to say."

"I know." Louis checks his watch. A few more hours. Just a few more hours. Christ. He doesn't look up. "I've missed him so much. I couldn't tell anyone."

"Louis," Liam says softly. 

"It's fine," Louis says. "Go on, get lost. It's the middle of the night. You should get some sleep."

" _You_ should get some sleep," Liam counters.

Louis shakes his head. "Nah," he says. "Don't think I could if I tried."

"I hope it works out," Liam says finally. "You and him. If he makes you happy."

"Yeah," Louis says. He scratches at his hip with his fingernail, the maple leaf tattoo hidden beneath his clothes. "Me too."

~*~

Back in his flat, tour bags dumped on the floor in the bedroom, he finds himself on his knees in his en-suite, throwing up. He blames one too many aeroplane snacks and Jack Daniels on no sleep, the can of Monster he'd drunk in the car on the way home from the airport feeling like the cherry on the top of a particularly awful volcano of poor food and drink and sleep choices. 

He ends up sitting on his bed with his knees up to his chest, nerves eating away at him and fear trying to tear at his skin. The neatly made bed's already a crumpled mess and he's only been home five seconds.

"It's just Nick," he says out loud, "It's just Nick." He's supposed to text him to tell him he's back and to come over. He'd pretended he'd needed to get some sleep after the flight, instead of needing the extra time to build up the courage to face Nick in person. It doesn't matter how much he's missed him, or how desperate he is to see him. Nick's always been able to terrify him more than anyone else on the planet. That's kind of the problem. 

It takes him a while to be able to send the text that says _I'm home. Come over I've missed you xx_

~*~

The doorbell, when it finally comes, is anticlimactic. Nick says _hiya,_ waving into the little entry camera, and Louis buzzes him in, wiping his sweaty hands on his trackie bottoms before going to hide in the kitchen until the lift doors open. Then Nick's in his flat and Louis's either going to throw up again, or fall down, or both. 

"Hiya," Nick says again, putting his bag down in the hall. 

Louis puts two tea bags into a couple of mugs, and presses the _on_ switch on the kettle. "Hi. I'm making tea. Unless you want coffee?" He can't turn around. His fingers shake. There's a stain on the counter already, even though he'd asked for a cleaning company to come round a couple of days ago and make the place habitable. He picks at it with his fingernail, except he's chewed his nails down to the quick and he's about as much use as a chocolate teapot. He can't turn around. He can't. 

"Coffee," Nick says finally. "But only if you're making it."

Louis fishes the tea bag out of the second of the mugs and reaches for the jar of Nescafe by the kettle instead. He can't get the fucking lid off. It's _Nick_. His entire body feels like it's vibrating off the key of reason. He wants to shake out of his skin. 

"Don't I get a hug?"

Fuck. Louis _can't_. He can't. He's never been this scared in his whole entire life; not the night of their first stadium tour, not walking out at Madison Square Garden, not telling Nick he loved him and begging him to give him a chance, not telling his friends he wasn't completely straight, not ever. He drops the spoon down onto the counter and he turns around. Nick's tall and awkward and pale, his hair sticking up, his jacket collar caught up at one side. He's taller than Louis remembers, or maybe it's just that the distance between them has added inches over the months. He's messing with the hem of his shirt. "Nick—"

Nick says something then, but Louis isn't listening. He can't. He throws himself across the kitchen and into Nick's waiting arms, burrowing his face into Nick's neck just to breathe him in. He smells different, spicy and fresh and clean, and Louis hadn't realised how much he'd grown to recognise Nick's aftershave until it had changed. He can't breathe. Nick's holding on to him so fucking hard, pulling him so close that there isn't a space between them; every bit of him is shaking, rattling apart like Nick's the only thing keeping him together. And maybe he is, because there's a sob caught in Louis's throat, the whole of him threatening to break apart given the slightest chance. He wants to beg Nick not to let him go. He wants to be able to breathe. 

"How are the feelings?" Nick asks, mouth pressed to Louis's hair, so muffled Louis can barely hear him. His heart's pounding loud in his ears. "They still there? You haven't changed your mind or anything, now that I'm actually here?"

Louis is coming apart at the seams. He shakes his head, clinging harder. "Fuck. Nick."

"It's all right. Whatever it is, it's all right."

It's not, though. It's never going to be all right, because Louis loves him so much that his entire world has expanded out until it's the size of the universe, and all of it is just this one thing, magnified until it feels like it's screaming from every corner of his soul. It's tearing itself out of him, wave after wave of it, so many months of trying to keep it inside. He can't. "I love you," he says finally, his fingers catching in Nick's hair, trying to pull him down so that Louis can meet his gaze and hope that everything he wants to say and can't is there between them. "I love you so much."

The wait seems endless. Nick catches Louis's wrists in his hands, and it's vibrating out of him, this fear, this need, this want. "Same," Nick manages finally, and it feels to Louis like they're tearing themselves apart just to make room for each other, like everything they do is hard and painful and as huge as the fucking sun. "Oh god. I feel the same."

Louis makes a desperate noise then, the kind he can't swallow down, the kind he can't take back. He reaches for him, his mouth catching Nick's. It's off-centre and breathless but he can't help himself. Nick cups his face, holding him there, and Louis wants to give into it, collapse into him and let it take him, but he can't. He kisses him again, hissing in a breath even as they're stumbling back into the fridge, into the cabinets, shit going everywhere as they take all of the magnets and papers off the front of the fridge. It feels like that first time, out in Caroline Flack's garden, or that second time, round the back of that pub, or the third time, in Nick's hallway, where he couldn't stop himself for reaching for Nick and pulling him in and taking what he could even though it was killing him, only _more_. His heart threatens to beat right out of his chest, and it's only Nick kissing him back that holds him together. 

It's different this time. This time he's not stealing what he needs. 

This time, he's wanted back.

"Louis," Nick says finally, later, when they've knocked cereal off the counter and the kettle's gone cold and it's all Louis can do to believe that Nick's really here. Nick touches Louis's face, and Louis wants to set himself on fire and let it burn him up. His fingers tremble, catching in Nick's shirt. 

He bumps his nose against Nick's jaw. Christ. Nick. He's here. They're both here. "I was so scared. So fucking terrified."

"Me too." Nick's touching Louis's hair, running his fingers through it. They're stood so close that Nick can probably feel the frantic pounding of Louis's heart. Louis wants to press closer, burrow closer, crawl inside so that he can set up home in Nick's chest like Nick's settled inside of his. "I like the hair."

Louis lets out a breath. His mouth is close enough that he can brush his lips against Nick's cheek. He rocks a little closer, balling up his courage, going up on his toes. This desperation in his chest won't quiet. "Can we go to bed?" 

Nick kisses the top of his head. "Yeah. Course."

In his head, Louis had wanted their first time back together to be rough, had wanted to be pushed around and have this itch fucked out of him, but now it's here all he wants is to be touched, to have Nick remind him that he's real, that _they're_ real, that the two of them are together and it's not just a fantasy with the two of them at opposite sides of the world. 

He hadn't bothered pulling the curtains in the bedroom when he arrived, and it's dark aside from the bedside lamp, a little musty, the only sign of occupation the upended suitcases from when he got in, the duvet in a pile from when he'd tried to curl up into a ball and build up the courage to tell Nick to come over. 

"You're literally the messiest person in the whole fucking world. You've been here five minutes and it's like a bloody tornado in here."

Louis moves one of the cases out of the way with his foot, clearing a pathway between them and the bed. "I love you," he says, trying not to signal that just saying it out loud is making his heart pound, "but you've got to stop going on about the mess."

Nick crowds Louis back against the bed, hands resting in the small of his back. "Five minutes back and we're already fighting," he says, but he doesn't sound mad. He sounds gentle, and fond, and a little bit turned on, and his hair's all sticking up and he's _Louis's_. 

"If you weren't such an arse," Louis shoots back, but he doesn't mean it. He chews on his lip, curling his fingers into Nick's sleeves, thumbs pressed to his bicep. There's more definition there than there used to be. Fuck, he wants to learn every single inch of him. "You've been working out."

Nick goes a little pink, shrugging. "Not as much as you." 

Louis can feel Nick's dick pressed up against his own, more so when Nick strokes his hands down over Louis's arse, pulling him that bit closer. Need pulses through him, a clamour inside his head he's been desperately trying to deal with for weeks and weeks. "Thought you promised you were going to pin me to the bed. That's what you said, right?"

"Something like that, I think. You got anything in public the next few days?"

Louis shivers. "Nothing that matters." His diary is an amorphous mess in his head, only ever shaping into anything resembling clarity when someone tells him where he has to be and when. He's pretty sure he's got something like ten days, though, ten days of no public appearances. "Why? You going to mark me up?"

Nick keeps staring at Louis's neck. "If you'll let me."

Desperate relief floods through him. _Please_ , he thinks. Please. "Do it," he manages, keeping the tremble out of his voice. 

Nick sucks a bruise into Louis's skin, his fingers splayed across Louis's throat, and Louis hisses in a breath. He's hard. It's all he can do to hold on to Nick's arms. He's probably leaving bruises. He doesn't care. He wants to. He wants Nick to be as visibly his as much as he wants Nick to mark him as his own. 

"You're mine," Nick says, teeth nipping at Louis's skin. He sounds as desperate as Louis feels. "You're fucking mine. God."

Louis is. Fuck, he is. He nods, wrapping his arms around Nick's neck. "Yeah. And you're biting me. Fuck, do that again."

And Nick does, stretching out the collar on Louis's hoodie so he can bite down on Louis's shoulder, and Louis can't hide his ragged intake of breath, the desperate way his hips rock up so that his dick is pressed right up against Nick's hip. Nick's hand finds its way into the small of Louis's back, under his hoodie, and Louis is naked underneath. He'd managed a shower before Nick had come over, and he'd just thrown on clothes so that he wasn't entirely naked when Nick arrived. 

He pulls his hoodie up over his head with Nick's help, dumping it down onto the floor as he pushes his tracksuit bottoms down. 

He's naked—apart from his socks—and Nick's eyes are dark.

Turns out he'd forgotten about the maple leaf tattoo until it was too late to hide it. 

"God," Nick manages, even as he's stroking his thumb over it. "What the fuck's that?"

"It's nothing," Louis says immediately, trying to toe off his socks. He knows he's going red. That day, trying to articulate the way he felt about Nick without having any kind of framework for what he was doing - he'd felt like an idiot. He still feels like an idiot. "It's just... this feeling I had. When I was in Canada and I was buying that stupid toy for your stupid dog with her stupid name—"

"Oi," Nick says, but there's no bite to it. 

"—And I felt like... God. Okay, there was this feeling, just... in my chest. Like, here. And it was love, right? And it was stupid, because I couldn't admit it and I wasn't ever going to, but it was hope, all right? Just, in that moment, I thought there might be a chance, and I went and got it done, and then I just fucked it all up and you were with someone else. I've hated it since I got it, okay? It was so stupid, because who the fuck gets a tattoo for someone they don't even know they're in love with, dickheads, that's who, and—"

Nick drops to his knees. He touches a kiss to the little tattoo, mouth pressed to Louis's skin, and Louis can't breathe. 

He blinks away tears, too tired to keep them away completely, because for so long it had seemed like there was no hope, like there was nothing that could ever bring the two of them back together, and now Nick's on his knees with his fingertips pressed to Louis's skin. 

"You're such a fucking idiot," Nick says softly, and it sounds like _I love you_ , and Louis doesn't know whether he's hearing it for real or just desperately wishing he is. "What the fuck did you go and get this for? You're such a dickhead."

"I know," Louis says, and his hands tremble as he slides his hands into Nick's hair. He keeps the waver out of his voice. "But I've done it now. I'm out. My friends know now. My mum does too. That's what it means. It doesn't mean—" _it doesn't mean you're the love of my life_. It does, but he's not saying that out loud. He's all or nothing. He always has been. 

"You know who you are now," Nick finishes for him, and Louis can't help but startle. He has no fucking idea who he is. It's startling that other people seem to know themselves in a way that Louis is fairly sure he won't ever be able to. The only thing he's sure about is the way he feels about Nick. 

"Suppose I do," he says finally. 

Nick strokes his thumb over Louis's hip, over the maple leaf that for so long has just shown to an audience of one how stupid Louis is. "How's it feel?"

"Like I love you," he says, which is the only truth he knows. He crooks a smile down at Nick, who's still on his knees, fully dressed, when Louis is naked and mostly hard. "Like I'm telling the truth."

Nick smiles back. "New and exciting plot twist for both of us."

Louis strokes Nick's hair away from his face. His hair's always ridiculous. Louis had mocked it as much as possible whenever he had the opportunity, but now he just finds it endearingly handsome. He's well and truly gone for him if he's fond of Nick's stupid hair. 

Nick gets undressed mostly still kneeling down, pulling off his shirt and his t-shirt and his belt and undoing his jeans without getting to his feet. Nick on his knees doesn't make Louis want to keep him there. He suspects he should, suspects there should be a part of him that wants to retain at least some shadow of control, but he doesn't know where that part of him is hiding. It's intimate in a way that they haven't been in such a long time—if ever—and that makes Louis's insides tremble, but not because he wants to take charge. All he wants when he's with Nick is for Nick to take that away from him. 

He doesn't understand much about the inside of his head or what he's supposed to do with what he finds there. He's fairly sure he shouldn't want at least ninety per cent of what's in there, but he's not thinking about that now. Not when Nick's getting to his feet and shedding jeans and pants and socks. 

Not when Nick's pushing him back onto the bed with an _oomph_ , not when they're naked together and Nick's crawling over him, Louis going up onto his elbows so that he can beg a kiss. 

Nick cups Louis's dick in his hand, and Louis fights the urge to rock his hips up and give him everything. 

"Missed this," Nick says, voice low. 

Louis is fairly sure he can't put into words how much he's missed this. He doesn't try. "My dick? It is pretty fantastic." He tilts his hips up, letting Nick loosely fist his erection. 

"Shut up," Nick says, and something inside of Louis shudders to an abrupt, desperate stop. 

"Make me." He can't make it sound like anything other than him begging for it. He's already putting his hands above his head, and Nick's covering Louis's body with his own, a solid weight pinning Louis to the bed, Nick holding Louis's wrists with one hand. Louis wants to sink into it, give it up and let Nick take charge, but he can't give into it that easily, not even when Nick's grinding down against his dick. 

He wants this, he wants it so much he can't even articulate it inside of his head, let alone outside of it. He tries to buck up against Nick, tries to free his wrists, but he just wants Nick to hold on tighter, to prove to him that he's got him, that he's here, that Louis isn't going anywhere because Nick won't let him. He surges up to kiss him, already breathless and begging Nick with every kiss to just take over and understand what he's asking of him. 

One of these days they're going to have to learn how to ask for things out loud, but Louis isn't sure he'll ever be able to. He kisses him again, and it feels like it's being wrenched out of him, but he wants it more than anything. 

"Going to make you come all over yourself," Nick tells him, in between kisses. "You'd make a right mess, wouldn't you, love?"

 _Love_. God, yes. "Christ," he manages, hips bucking up. 

Nick nips at Louis's bottom lip with his teeth. "Think you can?" He carries on moving downwards, mouthing at his jaw, his throat, the curve of Louis's shoulder. He bites down and Louis can't help but cry out, head tipped back. 

Louis won't give in. He can't. He's wriggling as much as he can, just so that Nick will make him stay still. "Can what?"

Nick shuffles his knees in a bit, pinning Louis's legs together. "Come all over yourself, love," he says, thumb pressed to the maple leaf tattoo. "God, look how much you like this." He's staring at Louis's dick, leaking pre-come down onto his stomach. 

"I missed you," Louis tells him, because it's never going to be enough. "I missed you all the time."

"Me too," Nick says, biting down on Louis's shoulder again. He's going to have bite marks. He shivers at the thought, hips rocking up as Nick's slant down. 

"Do that again," Louis begs, and they're practically rubbing off against each other, Louis's dick catching in Nick's pubes. "Please, please."

"Did you think about this?" Nick asks, and he's stroking the inside of Louis's wrist with his thumb, ducking in to kiss him again, breathless. He keeps shifting his hips back, out of Louis's reach, the worst kind of perfect tease. 

"All the time. Every time I wanked off," Louis kisses him. "The rest of the time too. I just thought about you. I've been so fucking miserable without you."

Nick makes an urgent, desperate kind of noise at the back of his throat, shifting position so that he can take one of Louis's wrists in each of his hands. Louis can't help but whimper as they rub off against each other, whining into Nick's kisses as Louis nears the edge. 

When Louis comes, it's with a half-bitten off cry, breath catching. Nick uses his come as lube, wanking himself off still kneeling over him. He comes on Louis's dick and it's so terribly, desperately perfect that Louis has to roll away and stare up at the ceiling, panting. 

"God," Nick says, a moment later. His chest's heaving. 

Louis can't help himself. He curls into Nick's side, pressing a kiss into Nick's chest hair, just above his nipple. "You're such a wanker," he says, instead of _I love you_. "That wasn't pushing me around."

"Stop complaining," Nick says, slapping his hand away from where Louis was clearly going for a nipple pinch. Louis needs to be sneakier. "We really do need to talk about this shit, you know."

Louis knows. He moves in to pinch Nick's nipple again, subtler this time. "Stop ruining the moment, dickhead."

"Give over. See how you like it if I do it to you." He makes an obvious attempt at going for Louis's nipple, but Louis has been around Liam and the rest of his band for years, he's not going to be beaten by an amateur like Nick. 

Louis bats Nick away, going for his wrists and pulling him nearer. "Shut up and kiss me. You're driving me mad."

Nick laughs, and kisses him again, letting himself be pulled in. "I've missed you," he says finally, kissing Louis's temple. "I've missed this."

They never had this, but that's not the point. It feels like they should have done. Everything about them is back to front and upside down and inside out. 

"You don't regret it, do you?" Louis asks. The room's cold and he makes a half-hearted attempt at pulling the duvet up so that they're covered. Everything smells a little stale and a little musty, even though having the cleaning company in last week was supposed to freshen it up a bit. He'll have to get someone else in next time. 

"Which bit?" Nick wraps an arm around Louis's shoulders and Louis burrows a little bit closer still, toes bumping into Nick's calves. He wraps his arm around Nick's stomach, thumb brushing his nipple. "No pinching."

"No pinching," Louis lies, going in for the pinch. "No, I don't know. Any of it. Coming over here. Picking me."

Nick huffs a laugh. His ribcage expands, then contracts. Louis splays his fingers across Nick's skin. 

"No," Nick says finally. "I've never really, you know, done the whole boyfriend thing."

"Could have fooled me, you and Gareth were all over fucking _Heat_."

Nick kisses the top of his head. "Jealous."

"Only a little bit," Louis says, which is a gigantic lie. "Anyway, I'm your boyfriend now."

"You are," Nick agrees. "And I've never... I've never done it when it felt like this. I've never been this miserable without someone before."

"Should have had a stupid tattoo to remind you how badly you'd fucked up every day. That might have helped."

Nick rolls onto his side so that they're facing each other, his nose touching Louis's. Nick's breath is warm against Louis's mouth. When he tries to meet Nick's eyes he goes a bit cross-eyed. Nick makes a face. "I'm properly in love with you," he says finally. "Properly arse over tit. If you think I'm going to regret giving me and you a good go when I was such a fucking mardy arse without you then you've got another think coming."

"You've got such stupid hair," Louis says, instead of anything more sensible. 

"It's the hairdressing kittens. They're avant-garde. They've gone all modern and east London."

"Hipster kittens." Louis nods. "Shoreditch cats."

"It's all Hackney now. Hackney hairdressing kittens."

"You got a big enough coat to fit them in yet?"

"Nah. Need one of them pull-along trolleys. They've got a lot of hairdressing shit, them kittens. Proper little hoarders, they are."

"I can see that." He makes a face, bumping his toes into Nick's leg like he's a football. "I don't regret you."

"Even though you've had to come out because of it?"

"Not saying, like, it was fun or anything. Because it wasn't. But, like, it's okay." He doesn't let on for one second that coming out was worse than he'd told Nick. This was the one thing that Nick had asked of him, and he'd hate for him to know it was any harder than it had to be. That Louis's best friends in the world hadn't believed him straight off. That there was awkwardness where he'd desperately hoped there wouldn't be. 

Loving Nick is simultaneously the best and worst thing to happen to him. 

He yawns. Fuck, he's exhausted. He's the walking fucking dead. Virtually no sleep on the flight over, nothing when he got home, jet-lagged from Australia and New Zealand then Japan and now home, he's got no fucking idea what time it is. He's not exactly sure what day it is, only that it's a weekday because Nick had been on the radio. 

"You look knackered," Nick says, and he sounds fond and sort of tender, and it's all so horribly intimate that Louis really has no idea what to do with himself. 

"I'm fine," Louis says, covering up exhaustion with iron-clad will and the cheekiest smile he can muster up the energy to give. "Are you not kissing me for a reason, or what?"

Nick rolls his eyes. "What am I getting myself into, huh?" 

"No idea," Louis says, but he's wrapping his arms around Nick's shoulders and leaning in for a kiss anyway. 

"Trouble, I think," Nick tells him, mouth a breath away from Louis's. 

"Oh, definitely," Louis agrees, and kisses him back. 

~*~

Later on, after they've made a cursory effort at sustenance by eating stuff that's been in the freezer for fuck knows how long, Louis goes down on his knees for Nick in the hallway, right by the kitchen door. It's been forever since he gave a blowjob, but he doesn't fucking care. It's an endless relief to just drop to his knees and pull down the boxers Nick had borrowed from him and take Nick's dick in his mouth. Nick takes advantage of Louis's longer hair to pull at it, over and over just like Louis wants, his eyes watering as he keeps on sucking him down. His gag reflex is pretty shit so he can't take as much of him in as he wants without wanting to throw up, but Nick doesn't seem to mind that he can't deep throat. He definitely doesn't seem to mind when Louis moves beyond cupping Nick's balls, fingertips finding that little patch of skin behind it that makes Nick whine as he strokes it—tiny discoveries that belong to the two of them, private and better for it—then even further back to Nick's hole, Nick moving his legs further apart so that Louis has better access. 

It's all the invitation that Louis needs, and he presses his fingertip inside, still vaguely grossed out (in principle if not reality) by the whole arse thing. 

Nick makes the loveliest desperate noise, half-bitten off, half choked down, and Louis wants to beg for him to make it again, prove to Louis once and for all that he's not the only one who needs this, but he's got no way of saying it out loud and he's not sure he would even if he could. There's a part of him that just doesn't seem able to ask for what he wants. 

It takes Nick a while to come, but Louis doesn't mind. He likes the weight of Nick in his mouth, Nick's hands in his hair, likes the way his eyes water if Nick pulls too hard. He likes it all. He likes being on his knees. 

He's fucking missed this. 

Nick comes between one hitched breath and the next, and Louis does his best to swallow it all down. He uses Nick's discarded, borrowed pants to wipe his mouth and his chin, and Nick—breathless and pink cheeked—rolls his eyes as Louis drops them on the floor when he's done. 

"What have I got myself into?" Nick asks, bending down to cup Louis's elbow and pull him to his feet. 

"This," Louis says, voice a little rough. Nick twitches. It's nice. God, he's tired. It's easy to stumble up into Nick's arms, to have Nick's arms wrap around his shoulders and pull him close, even though Louis's hard and tired and still wearing his pants. 

Louis tucks his face into the curve of Nick's neck. 

"Tired?" Nick asks. 

Louis contemplates an answer that resembles the truth, something like, _I don't remember ever being this exhausted_ , but that makes it sound worse than it is. He'd thrown up from nerves and exhaustion and stress and caffeine this morning, but even though none of that has gone away, he's in Nick's arms and that outweighs the rest. "Yeah," he manages finally, because there's nothing else really to say. 

"Not surprised," Nick says, kissing his ear. 

"It's been a lot."

Nick's arms tighten around him. "I'll make you tea in bed, if you want."

Louis's chest hurts. It aches. His eyes fill with tears and he hastily blinks them away. "I love you."

"It's my tea making skills," Nick tells him, not letting go of him. He kisses his ear again. "God, I'm so glad you're back. I've been going mad."

Louis doesn't have an answer that isn't _bet I went madder_. He kisses Nick's neck instead, then his jaw. His cheek. The corner of his mouth. He'd kiss him everywhere if he could. Mark Nick as his in every way he could. He's hard, although it's drooped a bit now he hasn't got Nick's dick in his mouth. 

Nick reaches down between them to cup Louis's dick in his hand. "I'll wank you off in the shower if you'd like."

Louis's breath hitches. "Before or after you make me tea in bed?"

"Before. I'm thinking now, if I'm honest. Then tea."

"You don't even like tea."

"I don't not like it. I just, you know, I'd have a coffee. But I can make you tea."

Louis tucks his face back into the curve of Nick's shoulder again. "Because you love me," he says, voice muffled, and Nick nods, kissing the top of his head. He's so, so tired. 

"Yeah," Nick says. "Because that. Come on, I'll wank you off. If you can stay awake long enough."

Louis is giving into his exhaustion. He can't help it. He does fancy another orgasm though, and he is definitely not letting go of Nick before he has to. "I'm awake," he protests, which is sort of approximately halfway to being true. Nick's orgasm has made him sleepier, which is weird but he doesn't much care. 

"Are you, though?" Nick asks, smiling. He sounds so fond. Louis is fond right back. It's like his chest is gently opening up and letting Nick inside, which is a far cry from his general, more familiar sense of ripping himself apart just to let what he's feeling out. 

"Hand job." Louis does his best to sound grumpy, but the world's going slowly fuzzy at the edges. He stays pressed to Nick's side even as Nick's nudging him in the general direction of the en-suite, and Louis doesn't bother telling him that the better shower is the one in the main bathroom. He hadn't told him the last time Nick had stayed here either, all those months ago. Maybe if Louis had recognised back then that what he felt for Nick was love, then things might have turned out differently. Probably not. He'd been terrified of everything back then, and Nick most of all. No, maybe himself most of all. Definitely himself. 

Nick wanks him off in the shower, easy and sweet, kissing him the whole time, and Louis comes desperately easily, embarrassingly quietly. 

Afterwards, they wash themselves down without much care and attention, Louis almost too lazy to wash his hair again even though it's all wet. He stumbles into the general direction of the bed, Nick towelling his hair dry in front of him, chucking the towel in Louis's general direction before dropping down onto the bed, spread-eagling himself out so he takes up most of the mattress. 

Louis rolls his eyes, gets rid of the worst of his wet hair onto the towel, then lobs it at Nick's face. 

"You are the absolute worst," Nick tells him, chucking the towel vaguely towards the bathroom. "Fuck knows why I love you."

Louis ignores the flicker of _I'm pretty sure one day you won't_ that threatens to drown him from the inside out. "Yeah, yeah," he says, crawling over him, damp hair dripping down onto Nick's face. He leans down to kiss him, cupping Nick's face in his hands as he kisses him again and again. He can't help smiling. He can't help anything. He's so in love. 

He's so, so in love. 

He falls asleep tucked into Nick's side, nose pressed to Nick's shoulder, not even the promise of Nick making him tea enough to keep him awake, and sleeps for hours. 

~*~

Louis wakes up to Nick sitting up in bed next to him, his headphones in, fucking around on his phone. It's plugged in, the wire going down to the extension lead by the side of the bed. It's late, dark outside, and for a million pounds, Louis can't say what day it is. 

"What time is it?" he asks a little groggily, trying to sit up. 

"Half ten," Nick says, pulling out an earbud. He drops it down on the duvet, pulling out the other one and letting the phone screen darken by itself. His face curves into a smile as Louis rubs the sleep from his eyes. "Feeling better?"

"No," Louis tells him. He's grumpy when he first wakes up, but he relents. "A bit."

"Good. You must have been knackered. You barely moved."

"Is that why you're still here? Checking if I'd died?"

"Nah," Nick says, voice light. "I fucking hate it if I wake up and I'm by myself when I started off with someone. Freaks me out. Proper panic, I do."

Louis resolutely doesn't think about all the times he sneaked out of Nick's bed. Mostly he never slept there at all, though, sneaking out after Nick had fallen asleep. "Thought you might have gone home."

"Nope. Why, did you want me to?"

Louis is still sleepy and a little bit grumpy. His hair is probably all sticking up and out since he'd fallen asleep with it so wet. Nick's in his glasses, hair a little curly and going in all directions. He's a bit stubbly too. Louis reaches up to stroke his thumb down Nick's jaw. "No," he says, voice soft. "Just thought you might have anyway."

"No getting rid of me that easily," Nick says. There's a pause, and he moves his phone onto the bedside table. "I'm not going anywhere. Not unless you tell me to. Just so you know."

Louis presses closer. He's hot and still a bit of a sleep-zombie. He wants to kick his feet free of the duvet, but his limbs don't seem to want to do what he tells them to. He could probably sleep the same amount again, and then some. "Same," he says finally. 

"It's your flat. If you fucked off and left me here, it would be pretty weird."

"Shhh," Louis brings his finger up to his lips. "Sleepy."

Nick shuffles a bit. "You don't have any food in. Not really."

"Christ. You must be starving."

"Only a little bit. Ate some cereal out of the box earlier. How long had that been there?"

"Dunno. I go through cereal pretty fast. Are we too late to order anything in?"

"Twenty-four hour city, baby. What do you fancy?"

Louis shrugs. He's too sleepy for decisions. "Burger," he says finally. "Cheeseburger."

"You know it's going to be revolting, right?" Nick's pulling up Just Eat on his phone, waiting for it to load. "It's like drunk food when we're not drunk."

"I feel drunk." Louis kisses Nick's shoulder. "I want a cheeseburger and chips and a beer and something on the side. Chicken. I don't know."

"This place says if you buy five donner kebabs you get a special gift."

"We should order that," Louis says, trying to angle the phone so he can see it. "If it comes with a present."

"I'm not eating five kebabs."

"Chicken," Louis says. He doesn't care what they eat. He doesn't give a shit. He just wants to lie here with his boyfriend and never feel as desperate and alone again as he has done these past few months. "Order some barbecue wings or something."

"Something filthy, just like you," Nick agrees, leaning down to kiss him. "You taste sleepy."

Louis groans, rolling over to head for the bathroom and his toothpaste. He's not normally bothered, but he should probably make an effort if the end result is keeping Nick around. He doesn't know how to make Nick stay. He's genuinely got no idea what the fuck he's supposed to do with a boyfriend. He wasn't the world's best boyfriend when he was going out with girls, and he's got even less idea what to do now it's Nick he's supposed to be keeping. "Are you ordering?" he asks, head back round the bathroom door as he puts toothpaste on his brush. 

"Sure am," Nick says, without looking up from his phone. He's found a pair of pants from somewhere and a t-shirt. Louis isn't entirely sure what to do with the feeling in his chest at the sight of Nick in his clothes. He ducks back into the bathroom instead, brushing his teeth over the sink. 

In the bathroom mirror he looks tired, violet shadows under his eyes. For months he's been shapes hewn out of confusion and fear, and it's not like that's just coalesced into something safer, something more solid. He's still a collection of shapes. They're just softer at the edges. 

"Cheeseburger or a quarter pounder with cheese?"

"Quarter pounder," Louis calls back, but with a mouthful of toothpaste and his electric toothbrush going it sounds a lot more like _caw-caw rah-der,_ only less intelligible. 

"Twenty-five minutes, it says." Nick appears at the bathroom door with his phone in his hand. "Stick your postcode in, will you? What are we going to find to do for twenty-five minutes?"

Louis spits into the sink. He grins. "No idea."

Nick laughs, and holds out his hand for his phone. 

If this is what having a boyfriend is like, Louis might not be as terrible at it as he'd thought. 

~*~

It's November, and freezing, so of course Louis suggests eating their burgers out on the terrace. 

"Fuck off," Nick says. "I'm basically in my pants. Do you want me to die of cold before you've even had me a day?"

"I've had you three weeks," Louis grumbles, because Nick is probably right. "Anyway, you're supposed to be fucking northern. Knew you were from the wrong side of the Pennines. Can't deal with a little cold."

"Blah, blah," Nick says, going into the kitchen and coming back with two beers, two plates and a bowl. 

Louis makes the kind of face that he hopes suggests that he's never used a plate for a takeaway burger in his whole entire life. 

"We're on a date," Nick tells him, plucking the bag out of Louis's hand. "You're eating off a plate."

"Fine." He frowns. "Is it a date if I slept for ten million hours in the middle of it?"

"Yes," Nick says. "Go and sit at the table."

Louis's heart pounds happily, his chest expanding to let a little bit more of Nick and him inside. _A date_. 

"Stop looking so happy," Nick says, walking by with two glasses and bumping one of them into Louis's arm. "You'll give me a complex."

"Hopefully," Louis says, and he wraps an arm around Nick's neck from behind, bumping along awkwardly behind him. "Hey, what if we're terrible at the bits of going out that aren't having sex?" It's the part he's never wanted to say out loud. 

Nick shrugs him off, pulling out one of Louis's terrible black and chrome chairs to offer it to Louis. 

Louis is a guy. He's the one who should be pulling out chairs for girls. People don't pull them out for him. He's not sure how to feel about it, all this stuff he hadn't considered. 

"Sit down." Nick rolls his eyes. "And I don't know, I've never managed to keep a boyfriend. Never been that bothered before you."

"I've never had one," Louis says, as if that isn't painfully and desperately obvious from space. 

Nick doles out the burgers and the chips, putting the chicken wings in a bowl in between the two of them. He lays out the napkins from inside the paper bag by the side of each plate, like it's a proper restaurant and not Louis's musty living room. He sits down. 

"I don't know," he says finally. "We both want to try, don't we?"

Louis nods. Sitting in front of his food, he's suddenly ravenous. "More than anything."

"Well then."

"Eat up," Louis says, pointing at Nick's plate. "Don't want you wasting away."

"Can't have that."

Louis just grins. His boyfriend. Fuck. 

~*~

They end up back in bed, lights off, Nick poking his fingers into Louis's side, their feet tangled together. 

"You'll be knackered in the morning," Louis tells him. 

"Don't care," Nick says, grinning. "Not every day you get your boyfriend back."

Every time Nick says _boyfriend_ it makes Louis's heart race. 

"Let's not fuck it up this time."

Nick finds Louis's hand under the covers and hooks his little finger round Louis's. 

Louis kisses him. "Come back here after work tomorrow."

"I'll bring us breakfast."

"You can stay," Louis says, and Nick grins against his mouth. 

"Already was."

~*~

Louis ends up going back to sleep after Nick leaves for work in the morning, curling back up under the bedclothes to get another couple of hours kip. 

He texts his mum when he wakes up at nine, _how are the babies today??_

It's not that there's awkwardness between him and his mum, apart from how there is. He doesn't know if it's from his side or hers. It might be both. She's his best friend and he'd never told her he can get it up for cock. It seems like a glaring omission to her, and to him, one he still wishes he'd never had to come clean about. 

She calls him a few minutes later, when he's faffing about on his iPad. 

"How's the jet lag?"

"No idea what day it is, to be honest."

"But you slept?" She sounds concerned, interested. She must have just got back from dropping the girls off at school. "You weren't up at, like, four in the morning raring to go?"

"No. Must have just been beyond exhausted. Slept most of yesterday, too."

She sighs. "You must have been so tired. I'm glad you're back in the country, love. I like it when you're back on home turf."

"Almost a football analogy, Mum."

"Almost." She pauses. "Have you seen Nick?"

He waits a moment. "Yeah. He came over straight after work yesterday." His hand trembles. "It's still all right, right? That I'm seeing him?"

Her voice shakes. "Of course. Of course it is, love. It's just taking us a little time to get our heads round it, that's all. It's just that, nothing else."

"There's nothing to get your heads round," Louis says, which is a huge lie, because he's not anywhere close to getting his head around it yet, and it's his head. It's his head and his relationship and his boyfriend.

"It's just different. Not bad, just different. It'll be easier when we see you two together. We've never seen you with a boy."

He swallows. "There hasn't been one, that's why. There's just Nick." That's not the truth either, but it's less of a lie than anything else. His default setting has always been _be as straight as possible_. It's easier that way, and he doesn't see that changing just because he's in love with Nick. 

"Still," she says. "Why don't you come up soon? The two of you." She's doing her best to sound okay with everything, but maybe they're both pretending. They've always been so honest with each other. That's the worst of it. Pretending it's the same now that Louis likes cock. "Louis? Why not come up? The girls would love to see you. I'd love to see you. I've missed you so much."

"I've missed you too." It's been the worst and he hasn't been able to share it with her. He's always shared everything. His mum's absence in the parts of his life he hasn't let her into has been so hard. It'll be even harder if she disappears from the spaces she's always been in his life. The worst part of losing anything is the gap they leave behind. She's always been there for him, through thick and thin. "I love you, Mum."

She sniffles. "You're my biggest little one," she says. "I love you."

"I'll see when Nick's free." He pauses, stretching his fingers out. "Do you need us to get a hotel?"

There's a difference between _you're allowed to come home_ and _come and stay in my house_. He's just not sure he's awake enough to catch the subtleties. 

"It's your home," his mum tells him. "Even though you don't live here, you'll always be welcome. Nothing you could ever do would ever change that."

"It's your house though," he says finally. He's buying them a place. One that's big enough for all of them, and the new babies too. He's going to support his family even if he's not able to be a part of it as much as he wants. He'd like them all moved in before the babies are born but that's something else they've got to talk about—which house they want. He'll still buy it for them even if he has to take Nick to a hotel. 

"I'd like it if you brought Nick up to meet us." She pauses a moment. "Should we call him Nick? The girls tell me everyone calls him Grimmy."

His chest contracts. "You've told them?"

"Not yet. We need to talk about what we're telling them."

"Do we? What would you tell them if it was a girl?"

"Louis, don't. It's different. You know it's different. The more people know about it the more chance there is of it getting out. You know that."

"And that would be so awful, would it?" It would. He knows it would. It's been bad enough just telling some of his friends. He doesn't want to think about telling more people. 

"Louis. You know as well as I do that everything has consequences. You don't want to rush into anything without thinking it through."

Louis has never done anything in his life carefully and cautiously. He leaps, then looks. He gets it from his mum. His mum, with her great capacity for love. His chest contracts. "Okay."

"I'm thinking about you." 

"I know." She's always thinking about him. 

"Bring him home. Let's get it all out in the open, talk face to face." 

He doesn't know what to say. He never doesn't know what to say to his mum. "How's everything at home?"

"It's fine. We all miss you. We're all glad you're back."

"Even if I'm with Nick?"

"Even if that. We want you happy. I want you happy. All I want for any of you is that you're happy and loved."

"Nick loves me."

"You haven't been together very long."

"I loved him even when we weren't together." He wipes his nose on the back of his hand. "I'm not gay."

"I know, sweetheart."

"I'll ask him about dates when he gets in from work. He's coming over."

"Sooner rather than later, all right? I've missed you so much."

"Yeah." Ordinarily he'd have planned to go up fairly soon after getting home, but not this time. "I've got to go, Mum. Need a wee."

She huffs a laugh down the phone. "Louis."

"I love you."

"Same. Always the same. Let me know dates, all right? We'll have a big roast dinner, all of us together."

"All right." 

When she hangs up, he gets out of bed, but he walks right by the bathroom. He goes into the kitchen and fills a pint glass with water, then climbs back in to bed. 

~*~

"Someone's thirsty." Nick nods towards the bedside table, dropping a couple of large paper bags down onto the bed and holding out a takeaway cup for Louis to take. 

"Someone's wearing too many clothes," Louis says, without looking at the three empty water glasses by the side of the bed. He'd downed the end of the last one as Nick had pressed the doorbell, Louis going to buzz him in but not bothering to wait for the lift to come up. His bladder is an insistent, pulsing reminder of how much he's drunk. He takes the tea and tries to unbuckle Nick's belt with his free hand. "Get naked and feed me breakfast."

Nick leans in to kiss the top of Louis's head. "What did your last slave die of?" But it doesn't stop him stripping off down to his pants, clothes discarded on Louis's bedroom floor. He climbs onto the bed and crawls over him. "Anyway, I don't think there's anything in the boyfriend rule book that demands I feed you almond croissant." He runs his hand through Louis's hair, tilting his chin up. Louis is willing to be tilted. "Have your hands fallen off whilst I was at work? Are you going to have to learn to eat with your toes?"

"You're such a dickhead. I've got no idea why I'm in love with you." He kisses him. "So, my mum's been on at me and wants to know when we're going up." He focuses on a point just to the right of Nick's face, fingers clenching in the duvet. "I know we've been going out for, like, a day or whatever. It can wait. You know, I can probably pretend you're busy until the new year. Or whenever. Or we can call it off. It's not a big deal."

Nick sits back so that his weight is mostly on Louis's legs. He makes a face, poking a finger into Louis's stomach. Louis has to clench. He really needs to go to the loo. When he's desperate like this, it takes such a lot of his attention to focus on anything other than how much he needs to wee. Once or twice when he was younger and he couldn't stop his thoughts from spinning round in his head, over and over and over, he'd downed water until he couldn't think about anything other than his bladder. A weird, desperate, ridiculous relief. 

"How about you just shut the fuck up for a bit about calling it off, how about that? When were you thinking of, anyway? I'll see if I can just move some shit around."

Louis makes a face. He hadn't even let himself go to the loo when he'd woken up. He has to wriggle his hips to try and get comfortable. "Well, it's not going to be possible because you've always got a fuckload going on, you and all your posh friends, but I was thinking of going up this weekend?" 

Nick looks at him for a long moment. "All right," he says finally. "Oh, fucksticks. We can't. We've got Lou and Sam's post-tour Sunday lunch extravaganza on Sunday." He glances at Louis, like Louis might have forgotten there's a lunch they're both invited to. Louis's focus has mostly been Nick, though, and now the growing gap between him and his family. The lunch had sort of passed him by. "What about next weekend instead? I was supposed to go to a birthday party on Saturday, but I'll send her a stupendously expensive present from Selfridges instead. There's some time to get myself some pyjamas too, so I can make a good impression on your mum. Do you think your mum appreciates a good pyjama? Which is best, do you think? A check or a stripe? For a winning parental impression?"

Louis feels oddly close to tears. "You talk like such a weirdo sometimes." He leans in to pinch Nick's nipple so that Nick doesn't notice the tears. Nick bats his hand away and Louis—never able to resist riling Nick up if he's going to retaliate—goes in again for the pinch. 

"We don't have to go up to my mum's. It was just an idea."

Nick rolls his eyes, trapping Louis's hand against his stomach. "For fuck's sake, I want to meet your fucking family, all right? If I didn't want to, I'd say so, but it just so happens I'd quite like to meet your mum, so will you give over trying to get me out of this? I can get myself out of stuff, thank you very much, and I'm trying to say yes. Dickhead."

Nick stays where he is, pressing Louis's hand down against his bladder. It's an insistent pressure he has to focus on. Christ. "Wanker." Nick's face softens into a smile, and Louis wants to touch his fingers to the creases in Nick's cheeks, wants to map his way over Nick's skin until all of it is his. "I like checks," he says finally. "If you're asking."

"What?" Nick lets go of Louis's wrist. 

"Pyjamas." Louis pokes him in the chest. He really, really needs to go to the loo. He's always liked to hold on, this isn't anything new, but pushing it this far when he's with someone else is new. "Talking about your mum-impressing pyjamas. I like a check." 

Nick tries to slap Louis's hand away. "Good stuff." 

Louis goes in for the kill again, trying to find Nick's nipple to pinch, poking him in the side. He's always liked to tease, to poke, to prod, to get people's attention any way he can manage it. He'll keep Nick's attention any way he can. 

Nick rolls his eyes. He's clearly given in and stopped trying to bat Louis away. "Tell your mum we'll come up next weekend, then."

Louis's heart pounds. "If you're messing with me," he says, reaching for his phone, "then in ten seconds time it'll be too late, because I'm texting her now to tell her we're coming. And then she'll tell my sisters, and they'll cry if it turns out I have to cancel." His hand hovers over his iMessage. Christ, he's taking his boyfriend home with him. The number of ways this could go wrong is stupendous. He keeps hearing his mum saying _everything has consequences_ over and over in his head on a loop. He'd tried to block it out by drinking all that water, but he still keeps hearing it. Consequences. _Consequences_. Him and Nick together, and all the little ripples echoing outwards, out of his control, each of them larger and more terrifying than the one before. 

"For fuck's sake, text her." Nick takes a sip of his coffee, opening the paper bags with their breakfast pastries in. Louis types in _not this weekend but the one after ?? That ok for us to come up? Let me know if I need to book a hotel . Love you x_

He needs to hear _you can come home_ more than he needs to stop annoying her by asking. 

Nick's laid out an almond croissant and a pain au chocolat on the torn-open paper bags. "Didn't know which one you'd like, so I got both."

Louis isn't really one for pastries. Cereal comes far too high up his list of long-term loves for him to be able to shove it aside for pastries in general, but he'll settle when it comes to Nick. "Half and half them," he says, still staring down at his phone. His mum hasn't texted back yet. "Would you mind if we share the sofa bed in the living room? We'll be woken up at arse o'clock in the morning by my sisters wanting to pester us awake, just so you know. The other alternative is turfing Lotts out of her room and one of us on an air bed, but I feel a bit shit about that."

Nick steals the end of the almond croissant. "You don't have a room there?"

Louis shakes his head. "Not since they moved into Dan's." They'd moved out of the house they'd shared with his dad and into Dan's. Looking into their own place, somewhere a bit further out of Doncaster, somewhere big enough for them all, is still an ongoing process. His mum wants to involve him and keeps sending him pictures, but he'd rather they just find somewhere they like, and he'll take care of the rest. Louis not being there there much for his family doesn't mean he can't put some of his money towards providing for them. "The sofa bed's new, though. You don't mind, do you? There's no way we can have a cheeky shag on an air bed. The whole house will know. No one's ever actually managed to shag on an air bed without everyone in a ten mile radius knowing. It's impossible. I tried it once, when I was sixteen. Mum grounded me."

Everything about that night had been vaguely awful, from the ill-fated attempt at shagging to being drunk on crap beer and chucking up in a rose bush. His mum had liked that rose bush. 

"We're never having sex at your mum's place," Nick tells him, and he looks scandalised. Louis wasn't entirely sure you could look scandalised when you had bits of pain au chocolat stuck to your lip, but Nick was making a pretty good attempt at it. "No fucking way. We're going to be Morecambe and fucking Wise. Pyjamas buttoned right up to the forehead, thank you very much."

Louis knows who Morecambe and Wise are, but he's not particularly clear on where the pyjamas come in. Anyway, that's hardly the issue; he can't go away with Nick and not have sex. They've never not had sex of some kind. "Like there's any chance at all we can spend time together and not shag, Nick. That's what we do. Anyway, it's a sofa bed, they're usually quiet-ish. Not that I've slept on this one yet, but whatever."

"We're not having any kind of sex anywhere your mum might walk in." He taps his fingers against Louis's wrist. "Anyway, we've gone a million months without it, we can manage a couple of days without a cheeky finger."

Louis isn't convinced that there's enough of him to fill the gaps if they're not having sex. He wants to keep Nick as long as possible, not lose him at the first opportunity. 

"Seriously," Nick carries on, like Louis's not having a miniature hidden crisis somewhere right in front of him. "It'll be nice, you know, not—"

Louis butts in. "Are you bored of having sex with me already?"

Nick looks a little startled. "Gosh. Your issues are the size of Scotland. I'd be impressed if you weren't being an idiot." Louis knows he's going red. He's just scared. He doesn't know how to hold on to Nick to make him stay, though. "Stop worrying I'm going to leave you, dickhead. We've never just hung out, that's what I meant. It'll be nice, won't it? Just you and me?"

Going through all of this and losing Nick anyway would be the worst. The worst. "It'll just be you, me, my very pregnant mum, my mum's boyfriend, all my sisters, and everyone else I'm even slightly related to who wants a look at who's turned me gay." Christ, what if his mum's told his nan? What about cousins and Grandad and _Mark_ , oh god, his dad, what about all of them? All of them knowing that Louis likes Nick's cock. God, he needs the loo. This was supposed to help him not think about any of this, but now he's desperate as well as scared. "Shut up about my issues, like you don't have a million of your own."

Nick smiles beatifically. "Now they're our issues. Sharing is caring. Drink your tea and shut up, there's a love."

Louis jabs his toes into Nick's shin. "You're such a knob."

"I know." Nick laughs, handing him a bit of almond croissant. It's lovely, still a bit warm, the almond paste in the middle reminding him of marzipan. He licks Nick's fingers as Nick feeds him another bite. "So, are we calling it gay now? Not bisexual?" 

Louis's heart skitters to a tremulous stop. "Does it matter?" His palms sweat. 

"Couldn't give a monkey's," Nick says, sounding almost like it's true as he curls his fingers into Louis's. "So long as your penis likes my penis, I couldn't give a shit about who else you might like. Unless you particularly wanted to tell me."

 _What are you? What are you?_ It dogs him all the fucking time, this definition of who he is that matters so much to everyone else but that he can't fucking answer. He's not gay. He isn't. He's going to lean straight forever. It's just that he likes Nick's cock about a hundred times more than he likes anyone else's genitalia, more than he's ever liked anyone's genitalia, and beyond that he just can't figure himself out. But if he's not gay and he still likes girls then there's only one option, even if it feels wrong on his tongue. It all feels wrong on his tongue, though. The only thing that feels right on it is Nick, and Nick's mouth is nowhere near his. "I think it's bisexual," he says finally, even though it feels wrong, like a jacket he's trying to put on that's the wrong size. Like he's trying to step into someone else's life. This whole thing's felt like that, though, like every bit of his life is on a different path and whenever he tries to bring any of them together it's just too painful and difficult to figure out. He doesn't know what Nick wants to hear. He doesn't know what he wants to hear. "But leaning towards, you know, the knob side of things," he goes on, because he's fairly sure Nick doesn't want to hear about him liking girls. "I'm mostly knob-sexual. They should start putting that as an option on those equal opportunities forms."

Christ, Louis needs to wee. 

"Delightful," Nick says after a moment. "Now we can watch porn together and everything."

Louis has no idea what he's supposed to say to that. He's not sure if they'd even like the same porn. The idea, though. The idea of wanking off with Nick by his side, both of them turned on, both of them hard and watching the same thing... it's sort of deliciously hot. Dirty, almost, but in a good way. "Like we weren't going to do that anyway," he says, like he'd considered it before this moment. 

"Right." Nick licks his fingers and his thumb free of croissant crumbs, holding out the last bit of pain au chocolat for Louis to eat. Louis eats it from his fingertips. It's sweetly intimate in a way that Louis hasn't ever been with a man. 

His chest aches. 

Nick scrunches one of the paper bag plates up and puts it down on the floor by the bed. "What have you been up to since I've been out slaving over a living?"

God, Louis wants this. He flushes. Please let Nick say yes. He hadn't thought to ask. "Oh," he says. "You know. I was thirsty."

Nick glances at him, then at the bedside table where Louis's empty pint glasses sit. His fingers twitch. "Looks like it," he says after a long moment. "You drink all of that?"

Louis squeezes his legs together. It's getting urgent now, a pulsing need. "Yeah." He taps his fingers against the rim of the takeaway cup. "We don't have to. I wasn't pushing or anything, but—"

Nick's fingers bump into his knee. "You been to the loo?" He doesn't look up. 

Louis's embarrassment trembles out across his skin. Anticipation curls in his gut. "Not yet."

Nick looks at him, gaze careful. "You going to?" He keeps his fingers stroking over Louis's knee. 

"Not unless you didn't want to..." he trails off. "Didn't want to, you know." Instead of saying _watch me wet myself_ or _let go_ or anything else that doesn't sum up quite what he wants, he straightens out his fingers, palm flat. In no world at all does it mean _tell me to piss myself_ but Nick nods anyway, like he can understand Louis's stilted and rubbish attempts at communication. 

"I want to," Nick says, and he finishes up the last bit of Louis's share of the croissant and gets rid of that paper bag too, following the pain au chocolat one over the side of the bed. When he sits back up, he splays his fingers over Louis's bare thigh. 

"God, Nick."

Nick takes Louis's half-finished cup of tea off him, finding a couple of inches of space on the bedside table before he crawls over Louis. He holds himself up over him, and all of his stupid necklaces hang down and hit Louis in the chin. 

Louis can't help but reach for him, his hands going to Nick's hips, keeping him there. It's a request he can't quite manage to say out loud. It's a _please stay_ he can't verbalise. One of them is trembling, and Louis is pretty sure it's him. 

"We could do it in the bathroom," Nick says after a long moment. His necklace continues to bump Louis in the chin. Louis's boyfriend is a knobhead, and Louis loves him so much he can't fucking think straight. "When you're too desperate to hold it in, we could go to the bathroom, and—"

"Like when we were on the phone," Louis says quickly. Fuck, the number of times he's wanked off to the memory of wetting himself in a Kansas hotel bathroom. "And you told me to wet myself."

Nick's eyes are dark. "Just like that. Except I'll actually be there, and you'll be getting us both wet." He touches his nose to Louis's. He's dropped down onto his elbows and the cross on his necklace rests against Louis's chest. It's warm from where it's touched Nick's skin. "Afterwards I'm going to make you come all over yourself. All over me."

"Fuck," Louis's voice catches. He tightens his hold on Nick's hips. "Are you... are you sure? It's fucking filthy. It's all right, you don't have to—" It's Louis who's furtively looked up wetting porn, pictures of people letting go, of jeans showing wet patches and underwear getting darker. He doesn't even... it shouldn't be hot. There's nothing about this that should be hot. It's piss. It's desperation and holding on and letting go, and none of that is supposed to be sexy. None of it's supposed to turn him on. Sometimes Louis thinks his brain is wired up all wrong, all the little synapses connected to the wrong parts. If he was right, if he was normal, he wouldn't want all of this. But he wouldn't want Nick, either, and right now, Louis wouldn't give Nick up for anything. 

Nick kisses him. He covers Louis's mouth with his own, and keeps on kissing him. "I like fucking filthy. And if you think for two seconds that I haven't wanked off over and over thinking about you like this then you've got another think coming. Just so you know."

Louis goes a little dizzy. It's the desperation and the ridiculous, incredible idea that someone else out there likes some of the same stuff that he does. That he's letting Nick explore some of the bits of his brain he's never shared with anyone, ever, and that Nick's still here. "God. Really?"

Nick gives him half a smile. Louis wants to pull him closer, but Nick's having none of it, leaning in to kiss Louis's cheek instead. 

"You wetting yourself is so fucking hot."

Louis is fairly sure his skin is on fire. "It's so weird."

Nick rolls onto his side. "Gloriously so. I love it." He walks his fingers down over Louis's stomach, over his bladder. 

Louis has to clench not to give in and let go. He trembles. 

"How much did you drink, love?" Nick cups Louis's cheek in his hand before kissing the corner of Louis's mouth. 

Louis doesn't mean to whine, but the pressure on his bladder is insistent, and Nick is indulging him in this, his most secret and terrible of fantasies, and it all means too fucking much for him to be able to process properly. 

"All of that," he says finally, waving his hand towards the bedside table. "And now the tea."

Nick's gaze follows Louis's hand. "God. I couldn't drink all that and not run for the loo."

"I've been holding on," Louis admits softly. He tilts his chin up. "For you."

Nick kisses him again. "Love, why didn't you say?"

Louis shrugs. He's a little breathless, trembling and desperate. "I like it," he says, three little words he's never really said out loud before. It's barely a kiss this time, the two of them sharing breath. He tightens his fingers in the bedclothes. "Nick, fuck, I love you."

"Love you right back." Nick stands up and holds out his hand for Louis to take. "You ready?"

Moving has got a little difficult. He keeps twitching, rocking up. He's half-hard. He can't stay hard. He's too desperate. 

Nick leads him into the bathroom, fumbling for the light switch, but Louis pushes him forward. He's not sure he can wait, even if they have to do this in the dark. The lights hum on even as they're walking into the shower, and Louis doesn't bother trying to take his pants off, or making Nick take his off either. He's not sure he could bend down again anyway. He wants to cup his dick, a protective _hold on_ he can't say out loud. He backs into the wall instead, pulling Nick towards him. 

Nick steps in close, bracketing him back against the tiles. He steadies himself with a hand to the wall above Louis's head, and Louis shouldn't like it more when it's like this, he really shouldn't, but he can't help it. He shivers, and Nick covers Louis's mouth with his own. Louis swallows down a whine, more so when Nick fumbles with the waistband of Louis's underwear, plucking at the elastic. 

"Don't," Louis begs, even as his hips buck up. "God. I can't hold it much longer. It's been ages."

Nick settles a little closer, stroking over Louis's tummy with a crooked finger. "I keep thinking about you here whilst I was at work. Drinking all of that."

Louis knows he's blushing. "Would have been pointless if you'd been much later back."

Nick rolls his eyes. He looks so fond, and Louis can't quite understand that look, what it means, what it changes, what the implications are for the rest of Louis's life. "You should have stopped me from fucking talking, fuckhead," Nick says. "You don't think we could have had that conversation about your mum later?"

Louis's breath catches. He's almost tearful. Knowing what's coming, knowing just how desperate he is. "But I like it. I fucking love how it feels, being that desperate. Trying to hide it."

Nick's still touching him, stroking his fingertips over Louis's skin. In its own way, it feels like a brand. "Tell me?"

Louis hides his face in Nick's shoulder, and Nick holds him there, his hand in the small of Louis's back, drawing him in. "It's all I can think about. I have to hold it in. Just keeping still is..." Christ, he's close. He clenches everything he can. "I have to work really hard. So I don't wriggle. So I don't let on."

Nick's hand stills. "Do you do this a lot?"

"Not like this. But I wait." One of those other things that no one else has ever figured out. 

"Does it always get you hard, love?"

"Sometimes." He hisses in a breath. He's barely hard any more. He's pretty sure he's sweating. 

"You ever wet yourself on purpose? Apart from with me?"

"God." Louis doesn't want to think about Fiji, about that guy. About how miserable and sick and alone he was. "Once," he says finally. "I wanted to do it more, but I thought it was too fucked up."

Nick slides his hand down to cup Louis's dick, and it's too much. It's too fucking much. 

Louis lets out a sob, burying his face in Nick's shoulder on the off chance that Nick didn't hear. "Nick—"

Nick's stroking circles into Louis's back. "I've got you, love," he says, like Louis's okay, like this is okay, like he's not cupping Louis's dick when Louis's about to wet himself. "I've got you. You can let go. Come on, sweetheart. Louis, love."

Louis hides his face in Nick's shoulder, and he's crying, and he doesn't remember starting or why he can't stop. It's all too much, everything that's happened, everything that's got them to this point, to now. He gives in and starts to piss, and it goes fucking everywhere, soaking his underwear and Nick's underwear, and Nick's hand. It runs down his legs and Louis is crying, sobbing into Nick's shoulder, and everything is wrong but it also feels more right than anything Louis's wanted in forever. Nick is so hard, his dick pressed up against Louis's hip, and he's rocking up into him like this is turning him on. Like Nick needs this in a way too. Like Louis isn't alone. 

"I've got you," Nick keeps saying, pinning Louis up against the wall. He's still pissing, because he'd drunk so fucking much, but the pressure is lessening and Louis tips his head back against the wall. He can't stop fucking crying, even as he stops peeing. His chest hurts. It's so shameful but Nick is wiping his hand on Louis's underwear and pulling him into a hug, tugging him in close and not letting Louis go. 

Louis is breathless and desperate and sobbing, and the bathroom smells like wee and he can't stop fucking clinging to Nick. 

"I've got you," Nick says again, and he kisses him then, pressing his mouth to Louis's, and Louis can't breathe properly but he kisses him back. 

Louis holds on, because if he lets go, he knows he's going to break. Literally and metaphorically and morally and all. Nick's holding him together, the only thing keeping Louis from shuddering apart. 

"Love you," Louis says, but maybe he only says it in his head because Nick doesn't react at all. Louis hides his face in Nick's shoulder and says it over and over and over again in his head. _I love you_ and _everything has consequences_ and _I love you I love you **I love you**_. 

They're wet and dirty and pressed together and Louis's getting hard. His dick's fattening up. He pulls away to meet Nick's gaze. "Love you," he says out loud, in case Nick hadn't been able to hear his desperately telegraphed thoughts. "I love you so fucking much."

Nick meets his gaze for a moment before swooping in to kiss him. His fingers dig into Louis's arms and Louis rocks his hips up, rubbing himself off in his soaked underwear against Nick's thigh. Louis kisses him back, breathless, face wet with tears. 

"How do you want to come?" Nick asks, breath ragged against Louis's cheek. He presses a kiss to Louis's temple. 

Louis is shaking. "On your face," he says, without letting himself think about it. 

A muscle in Nick's cheek twitches, but he nods, leaning past Louis to turn the shower on. The water pressure is fantastic, but when it hits them, freezing cold and immediate, Louis shudders into Nick's arms. He kisses Nick as the water starts to come to temp, as they sluice themselves down, the worst of Louis's piss being washed away. 

Nick goes down on his knees even as the shower's still running, pulling down Louis's soaked underwear with trembling fingers. 

Louis gets a hand around his dick even as he's turning the shower off, wanking himself off as he watches Nick shove his own pants down and wrap a hand around his dick. He's hard, hard from watching, feeling, and giving Louis permission to wet himself, and that's incredible. Louis isn't going to take long to come. Nick is on his knees in front of him, and he's going to let Louis come on his face, and Christ, he wants it. He finds himself telling Nick just that, a circular repetition of _gonna come on your face_ , hips rocking up, one hand tangled in Nick's half-wet hair, tilting his face up. He brings himself off fast and hard, needing to give in to the desperation that's been building all morning and for god knows how long before that. 

When he finally comes, he catches Nick's mouth and cheek and chin and jaw. Nick looks filthy, and beautiful, and it's even worse when he rests his forehead against Louis's hip as he comes all over the floor and his thighs. 

Afterwards, breathless and with shaking legs, Louis slides down until he's sitting on the floor of the shower, knees either side of Nick's. 

He tips his head back against the wall. His chest feels different. A little more open. A little more free. 

"Well," Nick says. "That was about as filthy as anything I've ever done."

Louis reaches for Nick's hand. "We're so fucking dirty," he says, but he means more than that. He means _thank you_ , and _I need you_. Nick's face is a mess. It doesn't make any difference to how handsome Louis consistently finds him. 

"Let's wear that honour like a crown." 

Louis tries to smile. "You're the fucking best." He feels quiet inside. He leans in to kiss his come from Nick's mouth. "Yours tastes better. If we're having a come-taste-off, or anything."

"Next year's Great British Bake Off replacement. The late night version."

"Who can make the best tasting come." He pretends to be the X Factor announcer. "Given only the contents of this fruit bowl, which one of our contestants can make the sweetest tasting jizz? Nick Grimshaw rates the results later tonight."

"It's a winner. I'll do it in a floral bomber and make Mary Berry sweat because I'm wearing it better."

Louis smiles at that, tipping his head back. "Why weren't we ever friends before?" It's something that plays on his mind a lot, the distance between them, the fact they'd met and then gone off in two completely different directions with only Harry in between them. It's hard sometimes, knowing that Nick picked Harry to be friends with, and not Louis. 

Nick doesn't say anything for a while. They're still holding hands. "Dunno. It was just too easy to wind you up. It was just fun, like, you know."

Louis knows. "You just pushed all my buttons." _You picked Harry over me._

"You pushed mine. God. You know how to get under my skin like nobody else."

Louis tries to laugh at that. He feels worn out, like he's run a fucking marathon. He's so terrified of fucking this up and losing Nick a second time. He can't go through the last couple of months again. He hasn't got it in him. He slips his hand out of Nick's. "You know I'm going to use that against you, right? We're going to fight, and it'll be fucking stupid, and I'll use all of that. You'll hate me for it."

"Nah," Nick says, and he sounds fairly light, which is absolutely the opposite of how Louis feels. "Like I'm not going to give as good as I get."

Louis's breath catches. "That's kind of what I'm scared of, you know? We're both so fucking good at hurting each other."

Nick reaches for his hand again. "Hey. So, chances are, we'll be giant fucking knobheads to each other at some point. We've both got the capacity to be huge bell-ends."

"Oi. Says you. I've got the personality of a daisy."

"If daisies are occasionally utter cuntbuckets, then yes."

Louis tucks his toes under Nick's leg. His shower wasn't built for sitting in like this. "This scares me. Needing you so much. Being in love with you. I fuck everything up."

Nick wraps his hand around Louis's ankle. His touch feels strangely grounding, like he's rooting Louis when his life doesn't offer him anything but wings. "That's the thing, though, innit? Just, like, promising to try, I suppose? And you don't fuck everything up. You haven't fucked us up. Or, like, Liam or Harry or the others. Plenty of un-fucked up stuff around." 

"Suppose," Louis says, which is a lie. His friendships and his band and his family have never felt so fragile. Nick just doesn't know about any of it, about how close Louis came to losing everyone just so he could keep Nick. "Came pretty close, though."

"Saved it at the last. Hey, how do you fancy washing my hair? Then, if you're really lucky, I'll make you a cup of tea using one of those stupid fucking Yorkshire teabags you think are the dog's bollocks, and I won't complain once."

Louis doesn't even need to feign outrage. "What's wrong with my tea?"

"What's wrong with it, dickhead, is that you are from the wrong bloody side of the Pennines, and the sooner you realise that Lancashire is the one true county, the sooner we can get on with accepting I'm right about pretty much everything—"

Louis shuts him up with a kiss. "I hope you realise that ninety-nine per cent of what you say is you talking out of your arse, Grim." It's the first time he's called him anything other than Nick in months. It feels odd against his tongue. 

"My arse is perfect."

"Yeah, whatever." He kisses him again. "Look, can we just... I'm going to try, all right? I'm going to try and not, like, hurt you." He's doing everything he can so nothing bad reaches Nick. Louis can shoulder all of that. He can deal with poor coming out experiences and difficult conversations so long as none of it risks his relationship with Nick. 

Nick wraps his hands around Louis's wrists. "Okay. Yeah. Me too. Deal."

Louis still feels a little uncertain, but he does his best at not letting it show. "All right." 

It's a start, at least. It feels like a beginning. 

~*~

Louis naps after their shower, falling asleep half under the duvet whilst Nick's talking to him about something or other. When he wakes up, it's afternoon, and Nick's watching old episodes of Midsomer Murders on the telly in the living room with his phone in his lap. 

"What are you watching this for?" Louis asks a little sleepily, dropping down onto the sofa next to him and trying to find the remote. 

"Because, knobhead, some of us don't hide our TV remotes where guests can't find them."

"You're not a guest," Louis says lightly, curling into Nick's side and licking his throat. 

Nick goes a bit pink at that, which is something Louis decides to hold quite close to his chest for as long as he's able. He produces the remote after a minute of rooting down the back of the sofa cushions, dumping it down into Nick's lap. 

"Have you ever thought about keeping it somewhere to easier to find than down the back of the sofa?"

"No," Louis lies. "Do you want tea?"

"I always want tea," Nick says, which Louis is certain is a lie. He's going to have to get used to drinking it though, unless he's happy with a jar of Nescafe that's at least five months old. 

"I'll put the kettle on. And it's fucking freezing in here, why didn't you put the heating on?"

"No idea which of your many stupid cupboards hides the boiler, do I?" Nick gets the Sky menu up on the telly. "Anyway, it's rude to go poking about putting the heating on and off at other people's houses."

Louis doesn't look at him. He stands up, heading for the kitchen. "It's not rude here. You can do what you want here. If you're cold, you can put the heating on. You can go in whatever cupboard you want."

Nick waits a moment too long before replying. Louis feels awkward and a little unsure. "All right."

"Tea," Louis says, and goes into the kitchen to put the kettle on. 

~*~

They're halfway down a second mug of tea later that afternoon when the first firework goes off somewhere around about. Louis—too lazy to go and turn the heating down—has lost his t-shirt in the warmth and is taking sneaking pictures of Nick on his iPad under the guise of checking his email. 

"There's probably a packet of biscuits in the kitchen," he says, poking his toes into Nick's thigh. 

Nick raises an eyebrow. "Is there, now?"

"Probably," Louis agrees. "Ginger nuts." He buys them because the name makes him laugh, as well as them being very effective dunkers, and because it's tradition for him to text a picture of them to Oli. Thing is, Oli hasn't spoken to him since he came out in Australia, other than a text to say, _you coming home soon mate or what?_ and Louis isn't exactly sure whether that means they're still friends or not. 

"Take it that's a request, then?"

"You're learning," Louis says. "Cupboard above the kettle."

Nick pats him on the thigh before clambering awkwardly to his feet. "Better not get used to this."

"I already am," Louis calls after him, stretching out on the sofa. They've spent the afternoon with old David Attenborough episodes on the telly whilst making a list of things to try in bed, and Louis is oddly content despite completely failing to articulate any of the weird shit that he keeps thoroughly locked up inside of his head. He likes making Nick happy, and Nick's smiling, so it feels like a win.

When Nick comes back from the kitchen, packet of biscuits in hand, he shifts to make room for him on the sofa, and they end up with him sitting at one end of the sofa and Nick at the other, their feet all tangled up in the middle. They keep sneaking grins at each other over the top of their cups of tea, and it's all so easy and nice that it feels almost ridiculous that a month ago Louis was breaking apart at the other side of the world. 

In the end, he finishes his tea and opens his legs in the vague hope that Nick will take it as an invitation and come over to his end of the sofa. It takes a bit of strategic eyebrow-wiggling to get Nick on the same page, but he eventually turns up where he's supposed to be. 

"I'm terribly busy and important," Louis says, which is even more true now that Nick is right here and in his lap. 

Nick rolls his dick down against Louis's. "You are," he agrees. "You're terribly important. And brilliant. Did I mention hot? Really terribly hot."

Louis concedes defeat and puts his iPad down. Hearing Nick call him hot and important does queer things to his insides. "You're being weird. You don't normally tell me how great I am."

Nick grins, leaning in to kiss Louis's jaw, carrying on down until he's grazing Louis's throat. "Maybe I should tell you over and over. So that you remember."

"I'll remember," Louis says, which isn't a lie, because remembering is easy. Believing it isn't. Being great doesn't cause his family all this hassle or make his friends question whether he's telling the truth or not. Being great wouldn't threaten his band's success because being great doesn't include having a dick that sometimes reacts to guys in a way that Louis would prefer it didn't. "I know." That part's a lie. 

Nick kisses him again. It feels so nice, even when Nick is all angles and knobbly knees and too big feet and stupid hair. "Good," Nick tells him. "How do you feel about fireworks?"

Louis sneaks his hands under Nick's shirt as another firework goes off somewhere in the vicinity. "Love 'em. Why?" 

Nick keeps kissing him, like Louis is his to kiss, and he _is_. He is. "I want to go to a bonfire, that's why. How do you fancy going to one?"

The fact it's Bonfire Night has mostly passed Louis by. He's not been around long enough to see the sparkler safety adverts on the telly or the fireworks kiosks in the supermarket. "With you? Tonight?"

"Yep. Under the radar. With me. Enough hats and scarves and no one'll know it's you."

Louis goes still. He's not entirely sure that's true. What if they're seen together? "Like, boyfriends? Out? Tonight?" His mum saying _everything has consequences_ keeps playing on a loop in his head. Going out has consequences. Being seen has consequences. Staying in has consequences. Nick leaving consequences. 

"If you want." Nick settles himself against the back of the sofa, pulling Louis into him. "Or not. Just as us, if you want. Let's just go out. Have crap cups of well expensive takeaway tea and queue for bonfire toffee, or whatever. Probably not though because it's not flipping Oldham. No parkin either, I bet."

"It's rubbish if there isn't parkin," he manages finally. 

"Is that a no?" Nick's face doesn't betray anything, disappointment or otherwise, but it's clear that he wants to go out. "Come on. Say yes."

"What if we're seen?"

Nick reacts to that. "It's okay," he says, but Louis isn't sure that it is. "It's not like we have to be together. We don't have to hold hands or anything."

Just the idea of holding Nick's hand in public makes him simultaneously desperate and nauseous. His hands are sweating. "Where would we go anyway? And how would we get there?"

"Parking will be a complete arse. We could just get on the DLR. That's round here, isn't it? There's a big display at Blackheath. I went there last year, no, the year before. DLR to Lewisham and then we can either walk up the hill or get a taxi or a bus, I don't know." 

The difference between Louis's life and Nick's is ridiculous. Nick doesn't pass for anonymous but he doesn't have to deal with a fraction of the intensity that Louis does. Just for a moment, though, Louis wants to be anonymous. He wants to be normal and to go see the fireworks on Bonfire Night. He wants to make Nick happy because, fucking hell, he's done enough to make him miserable. 

"Traffic will be crap," Nick goes on, like Louis isn't struggling apart right in front of him. "Maybe just walk it? I mean, only if you're up for it, obviously."

He looks so hopeful Louis can't bear to tell him no. "I never get the DLR," he says slowly. 

"Goes right past your door, practically," Nick says. "But we don't have to."

"No," Louis says slowly. "I mean. We could do. It sounds kind of great, actually. God, I haven't been to a bonfire in ages."

"Overpriced hot food and a lot of ooh-ing and ahh-ing. Pity we haven't got any sparklers. I could write your name in flashing lights. Not that that's new to you. That happens everywhere you go, doesn't it?"

"Even Sainsburys," Louis agrees, although he's thinking more about the consequences of being seen together than anything else, alongside Nick's freedom to be whoever he wants to be. "Employ someone purely to walk behind me with my name in lights. I can give you his number. Know you like a good fame halo. You'll be in _Heat's_ Spotted column before you hit Tesco." 

"Sounds good," Nick says a little carefully. 

Louis does his best to ignore Nick's careful expression. "Where do you think you get sparklers from?" 

"Dunno. A shop?"

Louis rolls his eyes and shoves his phone in Nick's general direction. "Helpful. Ask the internet or something, will you? I'm going to find some clothes."

"Are we going, then?" Nick calls after him as Louis heads off to the bedroom via the boiler. 

"Course we are," he yells back, even though _everything has consequences_ is on a rolling loop in his head. "Get your arse in gear, slowcoach. If we miss the fireworks, I'm blaming you."

Christ. He's well and truly fucked. 

~*~

They end up on the DLR to Lewisham, layered up in ridiculous hats and scarves and Louis in fake glasses. They stand on different sides of the train, squished in between a lot of commuters from the city as well as people who are probably also heading for Blackheath. Louis's heart pounds the whole way there, his hands sweating in his stupid gloves. He's trying not to meet Nick's gaze just on the off chance someone recognises either of them, together where they shouldn't be. Louis doesn't get scared in crowds, not like Niall, but it still doesn't mean he goes out in them very much, and definitely not by himself. And the possibility of being seen with Nick, of people guessing why they're together, of guessing _right_ , is horrible and Louis hates himself for being so terrified. 

Nausea rolls in his gut, and his hands are sweating. Even when the DLR empties out a bit at Greenwich and Nick ends up standing the other side of the doors to him, shoving his phone in Louis's general direction, none of it will go away. None of the remaining people in the carriage are paying any attention to them at all, but Louis's eyes still swim when he reads the messages on the screen. Nick's been texting his mum, telling her about the two of them, and part of Louis is angry because Louis had to do this days and days ago, and Nick's only getting around to it now. 

"She wants us to come up," Louis says in a low voice, passing the phone back. That's scary too. How to be someone's boyfriend in front of their family. What's he supposed to do? How's he supposed to act? How's he supposed to act when he brings Nick back to meet his family? He genuinely has no idea. 

"Yep. Maybe you can drive over at Christmas or something. Come and have dinner or watch the telly and eat a whole box of All Gold whilst no one's looking."

"All I could possibly ask for," Louis says, pretending he's not scared. Maybe coming out tonight was a terrible idea. What if they're seen? Nick's looking down at his phone again, but he's smiling, happy, like this is the beginning of something perfect and Louis's a part of that, and Louis wants it. He wants it so, so much. He just doesn't know how not to be scared. He waits until the doors beep at Elverson Road before he says softly, "Everyone knows about us now." It's a lie, in its own way, but he's done what Nick asked of him. The key people know about them. He's fulfilled Nick's criteria for staying with him. For giving him a chance. 

"Lots of people, yeah." Nick looks at him. 

Louis ignores the careful look on Nick's face. He used to see that there a lot, Nick being careful, or sad, or something else that Louis could never quite parse. He'd always pretended he didn't see. The DLR is shuffling into Lewisham. Who has a train without a driver? "Told you I would. Told you I'd tell people."

"I know," Nick says, and they don't touch again until they're in a taxi leaving Lewisham station, ignoring the steady stream of people outside walking up the hill towards Blackheath. 

Louis reaches over the seat to where Nick's sitting, and bumps his fingers into Nick's thigh. 

Nick looks at him and smiles, and doesn't look away again until the taxi's pulling over to let them out. 

By unspoken agreement, they don't follow the rest of the crowds towards the busiest spectator areas or the funfair. Their luck is going to give out at some point, so they stick to the edges, where it's quietest. When the fireworks start, Nick wraps an arm around Louis's shoulders and Louis wants to hug him back, slip an arm around Nick's waist like it's okay that they're here together, but it isn't. It's not okay. Even in the shadows at the very edge of the heath, it's not okay. 

Louis is so tired of being scared. He has a boyfriend and he wants to touch him but he just can't. He fucking can't. 

"You all right?" Nick asks, after a while. 

Louis squares his shoulders. "Yeah," he says. "Course."

"Good," Nick says, and Louis isn't sure if he's a good enough actor that Nick believes him when he says he's fine, but he's not giving Nick a reason to leave him. "I bloody love a firework. Makes me feel like a kid."

"Yeah." He wants to hold Nick's hand. He wants to look up at the sky and watch the fireworks and hold his boyfriend's hand. It's not fair that wanting that makes him feel like this. There's no one looking at them. There's no one even close to them. They've deliberately not gone anywhere near to any of the spectator areas. They're anonymous. 

"Louis?"

"I want to hold your hand," Louis says, staring straight ahead. The sky is a sea of purple and orange and green stars. There's that beautiful smell of burning and gunpowder and autumn and rain and everyone's in wellies with scarves tied tight around their necks. 

There's a pause. "All right." 

Louis tucks his gloved hand into Nick's, and lets out a breath. 

"Better?"

"Better," Louis agrees, and he doesn't let go. 

"I want this to work," Nick says softly. "You and me."

Louis's terrified. He pretends he's not, pretends he's got it under control. He pretends there's a future where he's out and Nick's there too, but there's just a black hole between now and then, uncharted territory, a sea of fear. Nothing fits, not bisexual, not straight, not gay. There's just this, just Nick by his side, just this feeling in his chest. 

"I love you," he says, because he can't verbalise any of the rest of it. "I love you so much." Louis's desperate for it to be enough, but he's not sure if it is, and that's the scariest part of all. 

"Love a firework," Nick says after a while, when the display's going mad overhead, bang after bang after bang. "All them bangers and oohs and ahhh and everything. Properly love it."

"Yeah," Louis says, but he's not looking up at the sky. He's watching Nick instead. 

_Everything has consequences_. 

"You glad you came?" Nick leans in so that Louis can hear him. 

"Course," Louis says, and it's worth the lie just to see Nick smile. "Course I am, you idiot."

"That's my boy," Nick says, and shit, Louis is completely and utterly fucked. He's fucked. 

"Yeah," he says, and above them, the fireworks go on.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thank you to **camiii** for the beta. Any remaining mistakes are my own. Big thank yous also go to **akai-coat** , **ferryboatpeak** and **gentleantics** for reading and for helping me on when I was struggling. If I've missed anyone then I'm very tired but I appreciated your help, I promise.  <3

When Louis wakes up on Saturday, he can tell without looking at his phone that it's late. The sun's sneaking in through Nick's half-open shutters, the bed's cold next to him, and he can hear the low murmur of the television from down the hall. He's still knackered even though he's been back in London almost a week and he's not done much since getting back other than laze about with Nick, but it's been a long few months. 

He buries his face in the pillow before reaching for his phone, checking it with one eye closed. It's after twelve. There's a message from Stan from about an hour ago: _Still on for tomorrow?_

Louis looks at the screen for a moment before texting back a pretty straightforward _yeah_. Then he locks his phone, stumbles out of bed still half-asleep, and wanders into the bathroom so he can take a lazy piss. He runs his hands under the tap afterwards then pauses, staring at the pair of toothbrushes in the toothbrush mug. Nick brushes his teeth before he does anything else in the mornings, mostly even before he goes to the loo or puts the coffee on or anything. Louis is more of a leave it 'til the last minute before leaving the house kind of a guy, but he reaches for his toothbrush anyway. He'll make a concession for Nick. 

He avoids looking in the mirror as he brushes. He can't make sense of what he sees there. He just ends up staring too long and it twists out of his control. There's a desperate disconnect between the two halves of himself that he sees in the mirror, the part that's in love with Nick, and the other part. The part that all his friends know, the person that he was before, the part that no one can reconcile with the secret he's revealed: that he loves Nick. That Nick loves him. That they're together. 

If Louis can't make all the pieces join together into anything cohesive, it's hardly surprising no one else can either. He spits out his toothpaste then wipes his mouth on the neatly folded hand towel. Nick had given him his own set of towels, but Louis tends to leave his stuff wherever he last used them, which is almost always not where he needs to use them next.

He feels kind of weird. 

He pulls on a t-shirt as he heads down the hall to find Nick sprawled on the sofa in his living room. The flat's toasty-warm. Nick's dressed, if a pair of faded shorts and yesterday's hoodie counts, which it does for Louis but probably doesn't for Nick. They're taking the dog out in the garden without waking Louis up clothes. There's a gentle sort of quiet tug inside of Louis's chest. 

"Why didn't you wake me?" he asks, leaning in to touch a minty kiss to the corner of Nick's mouth. 

"Thought you needed to sleep. There's probably still coffee in the pot."

Louis shakes his head. He still feels weird, almost shy. "Philistine," he says softly. "I'm making tea."

Nick laughs, brushing his hand over Louis's hip. He doesn't sit up, Puppy curled up in his lap. "Go on, then."

Louis goes into the kitchen and switches the kettle on. It boils slowly and Louis stretches his arms out above his head before scratching his stomach. The curious pull in his chest doesn't disappear, so he takes a couple of slices of bread from the loaf on the counter and sticks them in the toaster. He gets strawberry jam and milk out of the fridge, choosing a mug and taking a teabag. He doesn't ask Nick if he wants anything, but Louis can see him out of the corner of his eye, scritching Puppy in between her ears and talking quietly to her as he scrolls up and down the channels. 

The kettle finishes boiling and Louis looks away. He pours water onto his teabag and slathers jam onto his toast whilst the tea's brewing. He's never careful or methodical but he tidies away after himself as much as he can, putting the jam and the milk away and leaving his used knife by the sink. The odd sort of quietness that's alive in his chest itches across his skin. Louis barely recognises himself at the best of times at the moment, but right now, he has no fucking idea how to handle what he's feeling. 

It takes him a while to work up the courage to pick up his plate and his mug and come back out into the living room. Nick sits up, making room for him, but Louis… he doesn't want that. He can't meet Nick's gaze. He settles himself down on the floor by Nick's feet, knees drawn up, tea on the floor by his foot. 

There's a pause. Louis stares down at his plate rather than up at Nick. 

Then Nick slides his hand into Louis's hair, running his fingers through it, his thumb brushing Louis's forehead, and Louis can't help the soft little exhalation he makes. He presses his cheek to Nick's bare knee, the toast forgotten. 

On the TV, _Iron Man_ is starting. Nick keeps running his fingers through Louis's hair. It's quiet. 

"You can pull, you know," Louis tells him after a while. "I like it."

Nick's hand stills, just for a moment. "Okay," he says, fingers catching, and it doesn't settle Louis's itch, but it goes a long way towards quietening the odd pull inside of his chest. 

~*~

When the film's finished, Louis makes a cup of tea for himself and a coffee for Nick. He eats a piece of cold toast over the sink, just for once trying to keep the place neat and free of crumbs. Nick does things like sweep the floor and wipe down counters, responsibilities that Louis's never quite managed to embrace. He eats another half a slice whilst the tea's brewing, then he brings both mugs into the living room and makes space for himself on the sofa next to Nick.

"You're quiet today," Nick says, wrapping an arm around Louis's shoulders and drawing him in. Puppy's making enough noise for all of them in the corner, chewing on her squeaky maple leaf toy. 

Louis shrugs a shoulder. He's taken control of the TV remote but there's nothing on apart from an old episode of Takeshi's Castle on Challenge. Craig Charles is trying to explain why the contestants are dressed as giant hands and are throwing themselves on what looks like huge playing cards. He's resisting the urge to bury himself in Nick's side. 

"You worried about tomorrow?" Nick asks.

Tomorrow is going to be hard. Tomorrow is the big Sunday dinner that Lou Teasdale's organised to celebrate all of them going their separate ways now that the tour is over. Her sister will be there, and a lot of their extended London circle, as well a lot of their friends who've worked on the tour. It'll be the first time Louis and Nick will be together in front of their friends. But even before that, Louis has to meet Stan and Oli, who will be on their way to a week-long stag party in Prague. Louis's offered to drive them from King's Cross to Gatwick, but they're meeting for breakfast first. They're going to look at him and know that he likes someone else's dick up his arse, and he's not got any fucking idea how he's supposed to look back at them. 

"Suppose," he says finally, which is as close an approximation to bricking it as he's willing to admit to. 

"They're just your mates, love. They're all right with you, right?"

"Course," Louis says, even though he has no real fucking idea. Stan's texts after Louis had come out had been all right, if surprised, but Louis's avoided phone calls ever since. Back in the summer, Louis had been part of conversations about going out to Prague for Connor's stag, five nights away before Connor got locked down with a missus for the rest of forever. He didn't know Connor all that well, although that wasn't enough of a reason to turn down a party, but it hadn't ever turned into anything. The invitation definitely hadn't been repeated after he'd told them about Nick. Louis's plans had been up in the air enough that he probably wouldn't have been able to commit anyway, and all the plans had probably been sorted by the time Louis had come out given that they were talking about it back in the summer, but it doesn't quiet the niggle that connects the two things in his head. 

It had been Oli who'd sent a vaguely awkward text suggesting breakfast at a Pret round the back of King's Cross. Louis's got no fucking clue how it's going to go. 

"It's a bit weird, though," he admits. He rubs his nose over Nick's hoodie. 

"It'll be a good laugh." Nick kisses the top of his head. "Nice to see them, you know. Catch up."

"Suppose," he lies. They've been his mates for a long time. He'd rather they stayed that way, but it isn't his decision to make. "Will you come on my face if I ask you nicely?"

Nick snorts a laugh. "You don't need to ask me nicely. I'd say yes even if you were being terrible."

"I'm never terrible." Louis plasters on his best affronted face, even though he keeps thinking about tomorrow, and how he has to be Nick's boyfriend in front of other people. It's terrifying. He's got no idea how he's supposed to act or what he's supposed to do, or how he's going to stop everyone thinking that he's gay when he's not. He's _not_. 

"You're a little bit terrible sometimes. Thanks for the coffee, by the way."

Louis rolls his eyes at the _terrible_ comment. He kisses Nick's jaw. It's a bit stubbly. He wants to hold on to this moment, where everything's lazy and a bit lovely, and keep the two of them here, away from everyone else. Away from all the questions and the answers that don't fit and all the bits in between. "Anytime," he says instead. "Come on. Thought you were going to mark me up."

Nick lets out a breath, touching Louis's cheek with the crook of his finger. "Here?"

Louis still feels weird, unsettled and quiet on the inside. He can feel himself going a bit red. "Wherever. All over." It's easier than saying _show me I'm yours_. He couldn't say that out loud if he tried, but he tries to show it instead, tugging his t-shirt over his head and trying to go down on his knees right there by the sofa.

Nick stops him with a hand. "Not in front of the dog. Come on. In the bedroom."

"Not on the bed," Louis says. He wants to be on his knees. It's an odd kind of pull towards something he doesn't understand, layers and layers of fucked up stuff in his head. 

Nick's gaze searches his. "You want me to push you around?" It's careful, like a lot of things Nick says to him, deliberately made to sound like it doesn't matter, like there's no importance attached to any specific answer. Louis isn't stupid. He's just fucked up.

"No," he says finally. "Not today. I just… I want you to do it when I'm kneeling down."

"All right," Nick pauses. "You're okay, right?"

"Course I am," Louis says. It's not entirely a lie. He's all right when he's with Nick, even when he's trying to make some kind of sense of this curious quietness that roots itself in his chest sometimes. Even when he needs to go down on his knees and have Nick mark him up and make him his. 

"You'd tell me, though? Right? If you were worried about tomorrow?"

If Louis bothered trying to explain half of what was trapped in his head, Nick would probably run for the fucking hills. "It'll be fine," he says. "I don't want to talk about it. I just want to… I just want to think about you instead, all right?"

Nick's mouth curves into a smile. His eyes get all crinkly. "I am well worth thinking about."

"Don't get cocky. You're not that hot."

"And yet you love me," Nick grins. "Come on, love. Let me make a mess of you."

Louis shivers. He takes the hand Nick's holding out to him, and lets Nick lead him down the hall to the bedroom. Puppy doesn't do more than look up as they leave, stretched out on her dog bed with her head on her paws. She looks ready for a nap. 

Nick closes the bedroom door after them before pulling off his hoodie and his t-shirt and his shorts. He leaves Louis to drop his shirt on the floor and take off the rest of his clothes. Neither of them are particularly hard, and normally Louis would want to push forward into Nick's space, but he doesn't feel much like that today. Normally he pushes so that Nick will push back. Normally he wants to push things because he's constantly searching for his fucking limits, for the moment where he finds out what it's all for and why he needs this so much. Today it feels like the opposite, like he's shrinking down into something smaller and he wants Nick to take what he's trusting him with and take care of it. He wants what he had before, quiet and on his knees, Nick touching him like he's there to be touched. 

Nick reaches for him, hand cupping Louis's cheek. "You really are quiet today. You sure you're okay?"

Louis nods. He's just… quiet. Inside and out. "I just want it like this today. That's all right, right?"

"Course it is," Nick says. "Come here."

Louis steps into Nick's space. He's still not completely used to Nick being naked around him, to the intimacy that they're allowed to acknowledge now. 

Nick tilts Louis's face up, hands cupping his cheeks. Louis's heart is pounding, a fierce pulse beat that skitters out to the tips of his fingers and back. Nick strokes his fingertips over Louis's cheeks and Louis's pretty sure he should feel ashamed because he's so desperate to be on his knees for him, begging to be marked up, and even though shame courses through him, it's not enough to stop him wanting it. 

Louis drops down onto his knees and rests his hands in his lap as Nick continues to touch his face. Nick's starting to get hard, and so is Louis in the quiet focus of Nick's undivided attention. If only he could turn the rest of the world off. 

"What do you want?"

"Want you to come on me," Louis says, and doesn't look at him. 

Nick tilts his chin up again. "I know that bit. Before that. Do you want to blow me, or, like, I could wank off on you." He blushes a bit at that, and it's nice, the kind of shyness they still have with each other, and that it doesn't just sit with Louis alone. "Or anything, really. It's up to you, innit?"

"I'll suck you off," Louis tells him softly, even though there's nothing gayer than wanting to have Nick's dick in his mouth. "Just, like, you could pull off before you come, yeah? Finish yourself off on me."

Nick smiles, and it's the kind of smile where the lines on his face get all pronounced, and Louis wants to reach up and touch him. He doesn't, because Nick hasn't told him he _could_ , like Louis's waiting for something he doesn't even know how to ask for. He settles for opening his mouth instead, leaning in a little as Nick takes his dick in hand. It's easier for Louis to take the tip in his mouth when Nick's guiding the way. Almost immediately there's the relief of the weight of Nick's dick on his tongue, the taste familiar as he licks at Nick's slit. 

Nick doesn't push, doesn't rock his hips up so that he's taking any kind of control. He lets Louis set the pace, lets him suck at the tip, taste him, take his time. They never do this, never go slow, not like this. It's overwhelming, in its own way. The furious intensity that usually colours how they do this seems oddly different this time, like a weight settling over him rather than a force upon his back, driving him forward. 

"That's good," Nick tells him, still stroking Louis's cheek as Louis sucks him. "Feels so good, love."

Louis makes a soft, half-swallowed noise in the back of his throat, taking more of him in, and Nick slides his hand into Louis's hair. Louis reaches up, unable to help himself, covering Nick's hand with his own. This way he gets to keep Nick where he needs him to be, his fingers catching in Louis's hair. 

_That's right_ , he thinks, sucking him off, _that's right_. 

It's a while before Nick pushes him away, hand to Louis's shoulder, saliva stretched out between Louis's mouth and Nick's dick. He feels almost stupid with it, reaching for Nick again even as the string of saliva breaks and most of it ends up on his chin. 

"Leave it," Nick says, as Louis absently goes to wipe it away. Nick's hand wraps around his dick. He's leaking at the slit and Louis aches for it. He just… there's something inside of him today, something that craves to be settled, and he wants it. He _wants_ it. "Leave it, babe."

Nick doesn't call him babe. Louis looks up at him, eyes wide. He doesn't know what to do with his hands. Part of him wants to put them behind his back. He doesn't. 

"Let me make a mess of you," Nick tells him gently. His thumb presses at the corner of Louis's mouth, sliding over his lip. Louis opens his mouth, and Nick smiles. "That's what you want, isn't it?"

Louis flushes red. He nods. He watches, waiting, and Nick's hand moves quickly on his dick. He must be pretty close, else he wouldn't have asked Louis to stop, and Louis is desperate for it. He keeps his mouth open, eyes raised to meet Nick's, and he wants it so fucking much. 

Nick's breath catches, his rhythm stumbling, and he starts to come, pulsing across Louis's cheek and mouth and lips and jaw. Louis burns with it, shame and need and desperation and sheer fucking desperate want. 

Afterwards, he tips forwards and hides his face in Nick's thigh. He only sits back when Nick makes him, his fingertips smearing the mess across Louis's face. 

"That what you needed?" Nick asks, after a minute. He's flushed and beautiful and Louis loves him. 

"Yeah," he says, his heart pounding. He doesn't let himself think about what everyone else would think if they ever knew the kinds of things he needs to make him feel like he's at least vaguely tethered to the ground. 

He can't think about seeing his friends in the morning. He just can't. 

"Come up here," Nick says finally. He curves his hand around Louis's elbow. 

Louis feels awkward and a little stupid, but he clambers up onto the bed anyway, ducking under Nick's proffered arm. 

Nick kisses his forehead, pulling him close, and doesn't ask him why the fuck he's being so weirdly clingy, which is probably for the best. 

Louis has no fucking idea what he'd answer. He's holding it together as best he can, but it feels like it's only a matter of time before the rest of his life goes to shit. 

He stays where he is instead, and holds on. 

~*~

Louis is woken up the following morning by his phone blaring out _why do you only call me when you're high_ across the bedroom. 

Nick makes an upset, complain-y kind of a noise and buries his face in the pillow. Louis, who'd spent most of the night awake and staring at the ceiling whilst Nick had merrily slept on, can't be that sympathetic. He jabs fairly fruitlessly at his phone screen to make the noise go away, then rolls over and into Nick's side so he can hide his face in Nick's shoulder. 

"Waking up's rubbish," Nick mumbles from somewhere face-deep in his pillow. 

"At least you can go back to sleep." Louis closes his eyes. He's got to get his arse to King's Cross to meet Stan and Oli off their train on fuck-all sleep. 

Nick makes a painful sort of a noise. 

They don't have to be at the pub for Lou's Sunday dinner until early afternoon. Louis's stomach is turning somersaults, and he kisses Nick's shoulder in an effort to ignore it. "You don't have to get up yet. You want me to make you a drink?"

Nick opens one eye. "Go on, then."

"Love you," Louis says, rolling out of bed and going to put the kettle on before heading for the bathroom. First the Pret breakfast before Gatwick, then the pub function room they're all taking over this afternoon that's somewhere out near Sevenoaks, or Swanley, or somewhere else that feels like the back of fucking beyond. He'd be lying if he said he was anything other than terrified about the whole fucking day. His stomach churns. He puts his shower off for a few minutes, because it turns out getting the shits because he's scared of his own friends is rubbish. By the time he finally gets out of the bathroom, damp hair dripping, Nick's given up waiting for Louis to make him coffee. He's sitting up in bed with his phone out, sipping coffee and petting his dog. There's a fresh cup of tea waiting on the bedside table for Louis, too. 

"I thought you said Puppy wasn't allowed on the bed?" he says instead of, _Christ, let me hide from the world_. He pulls the bathroom door firmly shut behind him. 

"Different rules on Sundays, innit?" Nick's sitting up in bed. "You okay?"

"Totally," Louis lies. He steals a pair of Nick's pants from the chest of drawers and roots around in his bag on the floor for a fresh t-shirt and a pair of jeans that doesn't fail the sniff test too badly. He definitely needs to do some fucking washing.

"It's going to be all right, you know." 

"Course it is," Louis says, thankful on a few levels that he doesn't feel quite as weirdly quiet as yesterday. "I'm out of socks, can I steal some?"

"Go ahead." Nick takes another sip of his coffee. "You can do your washing here. Or, you know, live out of a drawer instead of a bag."

Louis pauses. He glances over at Nick, who's looking sort of awkward and a little nervous. 

"I could clear you some space."

The cat's cradle in his chest tightens. "Nick—"

"If we're doing this, you're going to need somewhere to put your pants."

"Yeah," he says finally, because Nick's not wrong, and being scared doesn't change that. "That'd be nice."

"Can't have you stealing my deodorant all the time, can I?" 

"Don't start getting possessive over your deodorant. That's weird." He pauses. "Reckon you could have some space at mine, too. You've got those hairdressing kittens you've got to put somewhere."

Nick nods seriously. "Won't always be in my coat with the big pockets. Nowhere to put them if I'm in a jacket."

"Got to keep them somewhere. Won't always be winter." _I love you_ , Louis thinks, because he doesn't quite know if he can say it out loud as much as he needs to. If he makes a space for Nick in his life and Nick doesn't end up filling it, he won't be fucking able to cope. 

"Nowhere to put a kitten if you're wearing bermuda shorts," Nick agrees after a moment. 

Louis busies himself stealing socks then sits down on the edge of the bed to put them on. "Are you going back to sleep for a bit?"

"Probably," Nick says. "I'm just going to see you there, right?"

"Yep." Louis shoves his feet into a pair of trainers, grabbing his phone off the bedside table. "You know where my wallet and my keys are?"

"Table in the hall."

Louis gulps down the rest of his tea. His stomach's still churning. It's like his first night of tour nerves, when his insides turn to liquid. It's just his mates but he can't do this without them. He can't. "Don't forget to come or anything, right? To lunch."

Nick rolls his eyes. "Course not."

Louis tries to smile. It goes a bit crap and he knows it wobbles. Nick leans over and kisses his cheek anyway. 

"It'll be fine," he says. "They're your mates."

"I know," Louis says, but he doesn't know anything of the sort. "I'll see you."

"Yeah," Nick says, and Louis's pretty sure their relationship should be getting easier, but he's not entirely certain it is. He still has no fucking clue what he's supposed to be doing and it must be fucking obvious to Nick that he doesn't know his arse from his elbow when it comes to being boyfriends. 

_Love you_ , he thinks, and hopes it's enough. 

~*~

He's late to meet the lads, which isn't a surprise. Louis's been late since he was a kid, and years of being herded around from place to place hasn't exactly helped hone his timetabling skills. Pret's pretty quiet though, a little bit off the beaten track for people wandering out the front of King's Cross, and Oli and Stan have already got a table in the back corner. 

Louis's heart pounds. He wanders over deceptively slowly, shoving his hands in his pockets. "All right, lads?" he says without making any particular close attempt at eye contact. "I'm getting a tea, do you want anything?"

Stan and Oli have already ordered, and the table is covered in sandwiches and croissants and takeaway cups, the two of them penned in behind their suitcases. Louis doesn't wait for an answer, already backing away and heading over to where the fridges are. If he just stares at the food choices long enough he won't have to look his best mates in the eye and know that they know he likes it up the arse from Nick Grimshaw, and he won't have to see the way they look at him differently. 

He doesn't know what to get to eat. 

"What do you fancy?" Stan's come over and Louis didn't even notice until he was standing right by Louis's shoulder. 

"Dunno. Don't even know if I'm hungry." Louis shrugs. 

Stan rolls his eyes and grabs a bacon roll and a weird folded pastry croissant thing with tomatoes in from the warm shelves next to the fridges. "Go and sit down, all right? I'll get these. Unless you don't like them anymore?"

"I like them," Louis says. "And tea. I was going to get a tea."

"All right. I'll get you one of them too."

Louis stands there for another few moments before going back over to the table. Oli's standing up and leaning against it now, a bit red-faced, and normally Louis would make a perfectly reasonable, totally expected joke about Oli's face finally matching his ginger hair, but he doesn't. He doesn't say anything, because there's nothing he can think of that would be okay to say. 

In the end, Oli makes an aborted half-step forward, then stops. "Fuck it," he says, leaning in and managing an awkward sort of a hug with a few back slaps thrown in at the end for good measure. Louis fakes it back then drops into the seat opposite him, sliding over until he's not sitting on the edge. 

"Good journey?" Louis asks finally, when the silence has stretched on too long. 

Oli shrugs. "It was all right. Too early, you know? It's going to be a fucking large one this week, could have done with an extra couple of hours in bed."

Louis just nods again. He knows about endless travelling and burning the candle at both ends and all the hours that go in between. 

"You've been to Prague, right?" 

Christ. Louis has no fucking idea which one was Prague. "Probably," he says. "Don't think I saw much of it." He's a hotel connoisseur, a master of the swipe card key and complicated hotel air con. 

"We're seeing it all. We've got a proper good plan. Go-karting, paint balling, brewery tour. Think Connor's done these, like, pub maps and shit. One long pub crawl."

"You'll be wankered the whole time."

"That's the idea," Oli says. "I'd say cheers, but you haven't got your tea yet."

"Now he has." Stan bumps his knee into Louis's chair, hands full. "Move it up, lads, let me in." He puts down a takeaway cup of tea, the bacon roll, and the weird folded pastry thing in front of Louis. "There you go, mate. Have at 'em."

Louis moves over a bit so that Stan can sit down. "Cheers," he says, picking awkwardly at the little cardboard boat with the pastry in. His stomach's still in knots. He's not entirely sure he can eat anything. All those times they'd said _that's so gay_ to each other at school, all those times he'd heard _gay boy_ and _fucking poofter_ and _she's a bit dykey_ and everything else everyone said. All those times he's said _that's so gay_. All those sassy and flamboyant comments about his role in the band that was probably just another way of saying the same thing. People knowing bits of him before he knew them himself. 

"So, then," Stan says. "Is this the bit where we say _what's new with you?_ "

"Probably. Anyway, you know what's new with me," Louis keeps looking down at his pastry. 

"Yeah, but, like," Oli says. He glances over at Stan. "What the fuck happened, mate? Are you really going out with—" he checks to see if anyone's sitting near, which they're not, "—with, you know?"

Louis nods. 

"But, like…" Oli trails off. 

"It's a bit weird, right?" Stan says. "You and him. Thought you hated him."

"Not recently. Not for a bit." Sort of the complete opposite. He doesn't say it, but it's the truth. 

"But all that stuff on the radio with him and you. That was only a couple of months ago."

"I know it's weird." Louis tears the corner of his pastry box. "No one else gets it either. It's not just you that thinks it's weird."

"This whole, like, liking lads thing," Oli says a little awkwardly.

"Yes," Louis says, industrially tearing his pastry box to shreds. 

"Like, for how long, though?" 

"I'm not gay," he says quickly, quietly. "It's still girls."

"Right," Stan says. Louis isn't stupid. He can see the two of them exchanging looks over the top of his head. 

"He's coming back to see Mum with me next weekend," Louis says, instead of anything else. 

"Christ. Serious, then?"

"I know you don't get it. No one does."

"Lou—" 

"I didn't mean for it to happen. I tried and tried not to, all right? You think I don't know we'd both be better off if we weren't doing this? Because we would be. But it just turns out I'm fucking miserable without him." They're not better off without each other. It just might be easier if neither of them wanted this. He wouldn't be here with two of his best mates discussing, essentially, what he likes to do with his dick for a start. He wouldn't be terrified all the fucking time. 

"I just don't know if I can imagine you being miserable over a bloke," Oli says, and Louis shrugs. 

"When we went out that time," Stan says carefully, "that time before you left for Australia. I asked you if you were okay, cos you weren't, were you? And it was because of him."

"I don't remember that," Oli says. 

Louis shrugs. "Got pretty good at hiding it. You just caught me at a bad moment, that was all. But yeah, like, yeah. Was pretty miserable."

"But, like, you're properly together now?" Stan tears off a piece of croissant. 

"Not that you can just go and like, tell people. But, yeah, to you and the rest of the band and my mum. Few others."

"Like, he's your boyfriend?" Oli asks. 

_Boyfriend_ makes something tighten in Louis's chest. "Yeah," he says finally, because it might be terrifying but no one has ever made Louis feel anything like he feels when he's with Nick. "He's my boyfriend."

"Didn't see that one coming," Stan says. "But, you know, cool."

"Cool," Louis says, but he doesn't mean it, and he's pretty sure Stan doesn't either. Everything's changing, and he can't fucking stop it. He can see the way they're looking at him. Can see the way it's changed. He shakes his head. He doesn't want to talk about this anymore. "So, uh, tell me a bit more about this week you've got planned, then. How you're going to be wankered the whole fucking time."

Something in Oli's face relaxes a little. "Remembered where I put the map," he says, reaching for his bag. "We can show you."

"Cool," Louis says again, and his chest gets tighter. 

~*~

Nick's late to the pub for lunch. When Louis shows up from dropping off Oli and Stan at Gatwick — carefully avoiding seeing any of their other Donny mates, who don't know about him and Nick, and who Louis just can't face — he half expects Nick to already be there waiting for him with Lou and Sam and the others. 

_You here yet?_ he texts, because Nick's car isn't in the car park and Louis knows this because he's driven all the way around three times already. He's parked in the corner, under a huddle of fir trees that look a bit like they’re waiting for Christmas, hunkered down in the seat with his phone out. 

Nick might not be here, but it doesn't stop him wishing that he was. 

Nick doesn't answer, presumably because he's driving. It's frustrating, not least because Louis isn't entirely sure he can walk into a room full of a growing number of people who know he likes to suck dick, and walk in alone. 

He tries to channel his mum, her _you are always, always good enough_ mantra that has got him through so many terrifying things over the years. He can't, though, because all he can hear is _everything has consequences_ , and this is one of them. This is the consequence: today. It's the beginning and from here on he won't be able to stop the truth from rippling out. Coming here today is just another skipping stone he's sending out. At some point it's got to sink, and it'll fucking take him with it. 

_I thought you were going to be here_ , he texts, and he's giving too much of himself away, all these secrets that he hides in all the tiny crevices of his skin, the fear that sits too heavy on his shoulders. He doesn't text _I can't do this_ or _I know I'll lose you if I don't_. He's in such a fucking mess. He wants to cling to Nick with everything he's got, keep him forever because the possibility of going on without him seems impossible, but he's so fucking scared of what it means for how he fits in with the rest of his own life. He's already lost bits of Harry, and probably bits of Liam and Zayn and his mum and Stan and Oli too. It feels like they're being chipped away from his skin, chisel digging deep, and he's so fucking tired. He just wants Nick, and for every other bit of his life to continue the same. He wishes it wasn't asking too much. 

He jumps half out of his seat when someone bangs at the window. 

"Are you coming in, or what?" Lou asks as Louis winds the window down. "You've been sat there five minutes."

"You've been watching."

She makes a face, motioning behind her. There's a playground out the back of the pub by the beer garden, all that fake bark around a wooden climbing frame and slide and swings. Lux is slowly clambering up the steps with Harry's help, her little hand in his big one, a wide smile on her face. 

Harry glances towards them, smiles a little awkwardly, then turns his attention back to Lux. 

Louis tries not to dwell too much on what that might mean. 

"Thought that lad of yours was coming," Lou says. "That's what he text me, anyway."

"He's supposed to be meeting me here." Louis fights the urge to check his phone to see if Nick's texted back, and fails. No new messages. 

Lou looks vaguely sympathetic, which doesn't make the tight feeling in Louis's chest any easier to deal with. 

"Met Stan and Oli for breakfast," Louis says, because no one has fucking told him how to have a boyfriend when he's straight. "Just dropped them off at Gatwick."

"Nick didn't go with you?"

"Can hardly have the _what you like to do with your dick_ conversation when he's right there, can I?"

"Dunno. Seems like a pretty good time to have it to me."

He hadn't ever considered taking Nick with him. He's sellotaping over the cracks in his life as carefully and as quietly as possible. "Just didn't," he says. 

"Did it go all right?"

"They didn't get it," he says. "But then, like, no one does."

She manages half a smile. "What's there to get? You love him, right?"

He shrugs an awkward _yes_. 

"And he loves you?"

"Don't know why, but yeah." 

"Well then," she says. "I've got it."

"It's not just that though, is it?"

"Isn't it?" she reaches through the window and fucks with his hair, pulling the front bit up into a bit of a quiff. "It's all right to love exactly who you want to love, you know. It doesn't matter who it is."

The thing is, that's not true. He tries to smile, nodding past her. "Lux looks like she's having a good time."

"Course she is," Lou says. "She'd have a better time if her Uncle Louis came and took her on the slide, though."

He makes a face, then taps out a _hurry up_ to Nick before getting out of the car. Harry's watching them, Lux crouching by the top of the slide, fingertips drawing patterns on the wood. 

_You are always, always good enough_ , he tells himself, plastering on a smile as Lou tucks her arm through his. _It doesn't matter what you do with your dick_. 

It does, though. That's the problem. 

"Hey," Harry says, as they arrive at the playground. 

"Hey," Louis says, and then he leans past Harry to tickle Lux into giggles. "Hi you, my favourite little monster."

"Not a monster," Lux says, but she's laughing and reaching for him and it's easy for him to scoop her up and into a hug. Little sisters he can do, bundling her up into his arms until he's kissing her cheek and she's doing her best to pretend to punch him in the face like he taught her. 

"Oh, you got me," he tells her, his head going back. "You got me."

"I got you," she crows, and it's glorious, this little creature that they've all helped grow up. Their own little Lux. He kisses her forehead and she wrinkles up her nose. "Hungry."

"Let's go inside and get you a snack, eh?" Lou says. "We'll soon be having lunch." Lux hasn't ever had much of a routine to speak of. She's an amenable child, settling her way into tour life like she was born to it — which she was, in her own way — but she's a little kid and she's hungry. She reaches for her mum, and Lou takes her, sweeping her onto her hip before heading back towards the entrance. 

It leaves Harry and Louis by themselves, and Louis shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans. 

"You all right?" Harry asks. "I thought Nick was coming with you."

"He's coming," Louis says. He doesn't mean to sound defensive. He's not sure how he does want to sound, though. "You all right?"

"Yeah," Harry says. He's wearing a stupid bandana around his hair. Only Harry could really carry that off. 

"Are the others here?"

"Zayn is."

"Christ. How did he manage to get here on time?"

"No idea. Maybe he's turned over a new leaf."

If it's a leaf that involves Zayn voluntarily waking up early on a Sunday where he's not working, Louis doesn't believe it for a moment. The two of them have always fought it out for which of them is going to be the latest. God knows how anyone managed to get him here early. 

"Think Niall was just arriving when we were coming out, too."

"Cool." It feels vaguely awkward, like there's an odd sort of wall between them where there wasn't one before. It isn't helped by the rising nerves in his belly, his stomach churning. It's the kind of pre-show fear that would normally have him disappearing into the toilet for a bit, and only years of endless practice gives him the ability to keep his nerves off his face. 

"Are you and Nick all right?"

"Yeah," Louis says. The words feel weird on his tongue. _Him and Nick. Me and Nick. My boyfriend, Nick_. He's never really said the last one. "We are."

"That's good," Harry says. They're going into the pub now, and Lou's turning them right, past the security on the door, and they're going up the staircase where the signs say _Function Room - Teasdale Party_. "Look, about before, on tour..."

"It's fine," Louis says quickly. He can't face talking about any of this, not now and maybe not ever. As they go in through the double doors, he spots Niall over by the bar, pint in hand. "We'll talk later, all right? Like, not now. I'm going to get a drink."

He gets a pretty hefty hug from Niall, a back slap and a kiss on the cheek. There are other back slaps and hugs too, crew and Preston and Lou's sister Sam. Zayn's over the other side of the bar saying hello to Liam and Sophia, and this is Louis's adult life, the steady and unsteady presence of the people in this room, the crew that feels like family, who come out with them time and time again. His world moves with him, this gigantic expensive tour train that creates the familiar in endless arenas and hotel rooms and backstage areas that bear more than a passing resemblance to this room now. There's familiarity in the chaos of all of this, but underneath it all, he knows it's worked for so long because they haven't kept secrets like Louis has.

Christ, he needs a fucking moment to pull himself together and figure out how to be brave enough just to keep on going. 

_Where the fuck are you_ he texts, even as he's taking his pint with him and going to find the toilets. _Where the fucking fuck are you_. 

He doesn't expect an answer.

The toilets are cold and old fashioned, the kind where the flush is on a pull-chain and the radiators are big and fat and low to the ground. Primary school radiators. There's a can of Glade on the windowsill and four rolls of toilet roll stacked up next to them. He leans against the tiles across the room from the urinal and stares down at his phone, willing Nick to text back _I'm here_. 

He doesn't, though. He's late, and Louis is here by himself, in a room full of people he's travelled the world with, and it's fucking terrifying. He knows the rumours will have started to spread beyond the few people he's told himself. Sam knows, for a start. Sophia, probably. Nick's going to show up and suddenly the room's going to know, and they're going to know that Louis likes dick, and every single one of them is going to assume that Louis is gay when he _isn't_. He's not gay. He's straight. He's normal. It's just Nick, Nick and a few other anomalies that should make _bisexual_ sit easier on his tongue that it does. It just doesn't feel right, like trying to fit himself into a coat that's the wrong size. 

He won't be able to stop anyone from assuming that he's gay. 

"Thought I saw you come in here," Zayn says from the doorway. He steps inside and lets the door close behind him. 

"So you thought you'd follow me in," Louis says, shoving his phone into his pocket. Nick hasn't texted him back. "Could have been having a shit or anything."

"Except you're not," Zayn says. He pauses. "You've been off the radar."

"Says you. You're never fucking _on_ the radar. We go off tour and you disappear off the fucking planet."

"You're in a piss-bad mood."

"I am not." He isn't, actually. He's scared, and whenever Nick finally shows up, Louis's going to have to figure out how to have a boyfriend in front of half the people he's worked with for months, with no fucking practice, and no fucking instructions. 

"Thought Nick was supposed to be coming."

"He is. He's on his way." At least he hopes he is.

"You didn't come together."

"Nope."

"Thought you might have done, that's all." Zayn shoves his hands in his pockets. "Is everything all right, you know, with everything?"

Louis rolls his eyes. "You mean, cos I told you me and Nick are together and you couldn't deal with it. That."

"You're not here together. I was only asking."

"I'm with him," Louis says. He studies his fingernails. "You're just going to have to deal with it."

"Except he couldn't be bothered to be here."

"He's on his way. Why are you being such a dick about this?"

"I'm not. I'm just worried. I'm worried about you. You're not yourself."

"And you would know that from the four seconds you've spent with me." He rolls his eyes. "You ever think that maybe I'm being weird because I'm afraid people are going to react just like you? That I'm going to have to fucking justify the way I feel about him over and over again because people like you don't believe me? Fuck."

"Louis—"

"Nick's my boyfriend," Louis says. God, that feels weird on his tongue. He's a _guy_. "He's my boyfriend and you're going to have to get used to it."

"I am used to you having a boyfriend," Zayn says. "The fact that it's Nick Grimshaw is the bit that I'm trying to get my head round, and then you turn up all quiet and shit and he's not here. You can't blame me for asking. I'm fine with you having a boyfriend."

Louis doesn't know what to say to that. There's a part of him that doesn't want Zayn to be fine with him having a boyfriend, because that suggests this brand new part of Louis that he's tried so desperately to keep hidden for so long is easy to accept. It isn't for Louis. He doesn't want it to be easier for anyone else. 

"I'm just worried," Zayn says after a minute. "You must be able to see how this looks from the outside."

"No." His phone buzzes in his pocket and he pulls it out to glance at the screen. Nick's message says, _I'm here sorry sorry just parked the car. Be in in a minute._ Louis types in _dickhead_ one handed and sends it back. "He's here," he says. "I'm going back out."

"Louis."

"No," Louis says, downing the rest of his pint. "Look, just pretend you're okay with us, will you? Please. Just… it's hard enough, all right? This is all fucking hard enough already."

He doesn't wait for Zayn to say anything, pushing open the toilet door and going back out into the throng, over to where Liam and Sophia are standing by the bar. 

Liam hugs him, then Louis kisses Sophia's cheek, telling her she looks great. Liam wraps an arm around her shoulders, kissing her hair. It's nice, seeing Liam so much in love. They're always touching so much, always standing so close, always holding hands or kissing or staring at each other in that awful, googley kind of a way that used to make Louis so frustrated on the inside. Louis's shown off girlfriends like that before, someone beautiful and perfect on his arm, but he's never managed to pull off the kind of adoration that Liam's got written all over his face. Louis's never adored anyone the way he does with Nick, though, and he's too fucking scared to show it. 

He pulls out a bar stool and hops up on it, signalling to the barman for a Jack Daniels and Coke. He can have this and still drive home later. 

Harry weaves his way over, drink in hand, and he's just kissed Sophia hello when he steps out of the way and Louis spots Nick in the doorway, saying hi to Sam Teasdale. 

His chest feels tight. He ducks his gaze. 

It's another few minutes before Nick manages to make his way across the room, and all Louis's managed to achieve in the interim is a churning stomach and sweating palms. 

"Hey," Nick says. He's got his coat off by now, a long, camel-coloured woollen thing that Louis hasn't seen before. He looks effortlessly cool, and maybe it's only Louis who recognises the little furrow in his brow, the awkwardness that exists conceptualising their relationship even between themselves. He's reminded that the situation is new to Nick as well as to him. He's not sure if that makes him feel better or not. 

"Hello, knobhead," Louis says, plastering on his most un-bothered face. "What time do you call this?"

"I'm here now," Nick says. "Hiya, Harry. Hey, Liam. Hey, girl I don't know."

Liam introduces Sophia and Nick kisses her on the cheek as he introduces himself. He then goes on to kiss Harry on the cheek, then Liam, and the only person Nick hasn't kissed is Louis, and something bearing a passing resemblance to jealousy sparks in Louis's chest. Even Nick taking up residence next to him as he talks to Harry doesn't help. 

Louis puts down his glass. His hand's trembling as he tugs on Nick's sleeve. "How come you kiss everyone else hello but me?"

Nick makes a face. "Saving the best for last," he says, looking a bit pink. He darts in to kiss the corner of Louis's mouth, and Louis is hit with the odd juxtaposition of wanting to shout _mine_ battling it out with an internal cry of _oh god everyone's going to know_. 

Christ. 

"Is that my t-shirt?" Nick asks. 

Louis isn't entirely sure which t-shirt he's actually wearing without looking down. Everything but this single moment has disappeared out of his brain like it never fucking existed. "It's mine now," he says, and if he's talking about the shirt or Nick, he's not entirely sure. It doesn't matter, anyway. 

Nick slips his hand into Louis's, and Louis holds on far too tightly but Nick doesn't complain. He's holding on just as hard. 

"How come you were so late, anyway?" Louis asks, interrupting Nick and Harry's conversation again. 

Nick makes a face. "Because someone - mentioning no names - fucked off this morning and left me in bed and forgot to remind me to set an alarm."

Louis resolutely does not look at Liam or Harry to see how they react to the idea of Louis and Nick in bed together. He can feel his face getting hot, and he tries to deflect it by kicking Nick in the leg. "Do I look like your personal slave or something? You can set your own alarm."

Nick bumps his knee into Louis's in response. "Just saying, it's not my fault."

Louis's heart pounds. He opens his legs just a little, not even that sure what he wants from it, but when Nick steps into the gap and loops a casual arm around Louis's shoulders, Louis lets out a breath he didn't even know he was holding. He slips an arm around Nick's waist and refuses to look at Harry. He looks up at Nick instead, and Nick gives him a ghost of a wink. 

His boyfriend. His _boyfriend_. Christ, he loves him. Maybe he can do this. Maybe he can be who Nick needs him to be. He's just got to figure out how to live with the consequences. 

Yeah. 

~*~

Dinner lasts for ages, and the two of them don't even get past ordering before deciding to leave the cars here overnight and come back and collect them in the morning. 

For some reason, Zayn's been seated next to Nick, and it's weird, trying to figure out if he's judging everything they say to each other. 

"You believe us yet?" Louis asks him in a low voice in between courses, while Nick's nipped off to the loo. 

"Louis, come on."

"Fine," Louis says fiercely, and turns back the other way to see if he can catch the attention of a waiter to order another bottle of wine. 

It takes him two thirds of the bottle to build up the courage to kiss Nick in front of Zayn, in front of everyone, heart pounding and hands sweating and Nick tasting like roast potatoes and Yorkshire pudding and red wine. The whoops from across the table settle in Louis's chest like bubbles in a shaken up can of Coke. 

_Believe me now_. 

Nick's drunk and smiling at him like everything's easy, like the hard part's done, and it is, in its own way. Louis's outed himself, and he's kissed Nick and everything's changed. 

_Everything has consequences_ , his mum had said. _Everything has consequences_. That's the hard bit. That's the bit that's killing him. 

~*~

His heart's still racing when the car service arrives to take them back into London, Nick next to him on the back seat, Louis with his cheek pressed to Nick's shoulder. 

Nick slides his hand into Louis's and they stay like that for most of the journey, quiet and drunk and together, both of them messing around on their phones. 

They're almost back at Nick's flat, and Louis's got no idea whether he's got anything to wear in the morning. He really does need to do some fucking washing if he's going to keep staying over here. Either that or actually bring some stuff over. A drawer of his own. Christ. 

"That wasn't too bad, was it?" Nick asks in the end. He puts his phone in his coat pocket. 

He rubs his nose over Nick's cheek, and doesn't think about how the only conversations he'd managed with Harry all night were the awkward kind that didn't mean anything and meant everything all at once. Liam was trying and Zayn was weird and Niall had been sitting right at the other end of the table so he'd barely seen him. Then he and Nick had kissed, and everyone who had previously been unaware of him and Nick was suddenly explicitly aware that Louis was not quite as straight as he's been pretending for so long. 

God. He just… he just wasn't straight. He'd known it. He'd known that loving Nick technically meant that he couldn't be, but it hadn't stopped him from calling himself it. 

He takes a breath, not wanting to think about it just at the moment. He rubs his nose over Nick's cheek, and it's a little bristly. Just a little, just enough to remind him what he likes. "Nope, not too bad," he says, because it's what Nick wants to hear, and because whatever consequences show up, he'll just have to deal with them. "Thought it was going to be, you know, total rubbish. Me and you and everyone looking. But it wasn't." It was, really. The one benefit of it being this specific post-tour party was that nearly everyone in the room had signed a non-disclosure agreement. And the people who hadn't, like Sam Teasdale, the odd girlfriend or family member who'd shown up, they were a pretty close knit group. Someone in that room trusted them, whoever they were. 

Didn't mean Louis did, though. 

_Everything has consequences_. 

Nick squeezes his hand. "It was nice, I thought. I've always been a bit crap with boyfriends anyway, you know that, but usually it's hard trying to pay attention to them and your friends and make everyone fit together. You're not like that."

Louis can't help the warm feeling in his belly at that. "It's because I'm brilliant," he says lightly. "Totally the best boyfriend."

"You are."

Louis doesn't ask if that's the truth. His competitive edge is still there. There's an intrinsic need to win that doesn't make failing any easier to deal with. He turns his brain to something else instead, that little thought that he's been turning over and over all day long, the one thing that had got him through the alcohol-fuelled coming out. He shifts, leaning in so he can whisper without being heard as they pull in outside Nick's. "Tonight we should definitely have sex without a condom."

Nick looks beautifully startled. It's a yes, though, Louis can tell. A beautiful, delightful yes, backed up by Nick's nod. 

Louis grins, nabs Nick's house keys out of his pocket, leaves Nick to sort out saying goodbye to the driver, then lets himself into the flat. He pets Puppy hello, but he's already taking off his coat and pulling off his hoodie. He can hear Nick behind him, pushing closed the front door and greeting Puppy, and Louis doesn't stop to turn around.

He leaves his clothes wherever he takes them off, stopping in for a piss before coming back out and lobbing himself on Nick's bed, starfishing his arms out, naked. 

"Someone's enthusiastic," Nick says as he follows Louis in, toeing off his shoes and closing the bedroom door. He's already taking his clothes off. 

"I just want you to fuck me. I've been thinking about it all day." Imagining himself elsewhere, in a bed with Nick and Nick alone, no one else's judgement or approval or disapproval in the way. He kneels up on the bed, legs slightly apart. He's already hard, and he wraps his hand around his erection. "Come on, babe."

Nick's smile is wide and bright and he's so, so lovely. He's the kindest man, the kindest boyfriend, and Louis has way too much shit going on to be good enough for him. He shouldn't be wishing they'd never told anyone. He shouldn't be wishing any of it, because if he was any kind of decent boyfriend, he'd be so fucking proud of having Nick love him, and getting to love him back. He wouldn't be this scared.

Nick kicks off his pants and crawls into the middle of the bed, dick standing tall. His erection bumps into Louis's as he settles his hands on Louis's hips, fingertips still a little cold from being outside. 

"Hi," Louis says. 

"Hi yourself," Nick says, rubbing his nose against Louis's. There's a gentle sort of intimacy in the little touches. The moments where Nick goes a little cross-eyed trying to meet Louis's eyes when they're so close, in the patches they miss when they're shaving, in the way their fingers feel cold against each other's skin. "Hi, babe."

"Fuck off," Louis says, embarrassed. "I like babe."

"Excellent. Me too. You up for this? Condom free, and everything?"

"Wanked off in the shower thinking about it." More than once, if Louis's honest, but if he was honest about how many times he's come thinking about having sex with Nick, they'd probably lock him away. He always was a once-a-day-or-more kind of a lad, but since starting this thing with Nick at the beginning of the year, he's nudged himself into serial wanker territory. 

"Okay," Nick says, and he looks a little dazed, which makes Louis feel warm. 

"How about you? You up for this?"

Nick kisses Louis's jaw. "I've wanted to go in without a condom since about March. Just want to fucking feel you. I've never wanted that with anyone else, like, ever."

Fuck. Just the idea of Nick thinking about it, of wanting it just as much as Louis has all this time, it's too much. He strokes Nick's cheek with his thumb. Nick's so lovely like this, naked and focused on Louis. Louis leans in and kisses him slowly. "Now you can."

"You trust me?"

Louis's voice catches. "Yeah. Yeah. I trust you with me." 

It's the truest thing he's said all day. 

"God," Nick manages, but he's already leaning in again, pressing his mouth to Louis's, stroking his hand down Louis's back until he can cup Louis's arse, and Louis lets out a soft, breathless _oh_ as Nick's fingertip grazes over his hole. 

Down the hall, Puppy's playing with her maple leaf toy, the dying squeak of it a terrible sort of death-rattle for the summer. Puppy is as loud as they are in her own way, desperate for attention just like Louis is. 

It doesn't stop Nick from touching Louis though, from pressing the pad of his fingertip to Louis's hole. Louis can't help but tilt his hips up, pulling Nick closer, shifting so that the angle's better. He moves his knees a bit further apart so that Nick can stroke him even easier. His breath's hitching, skin flushing as his fingers catch in Nick's hair. Nick's eyes shine, and Louis thinks _I love you, I love you_. 

Nick smiles at him then, pulling Louis closer. Louis kisses him, breath catching, fingertips splayed across Nick's cheek. 

_God, I love you_. Everything has consequences, and Louis fucking knows it, but right now, the only consequence he wants is this one. He wants Nick's bright eyes and his lazy, happy smile. He wants Nick's long fingers, his breathless laugh as they're moving up the bed, shoving the duvet out of the way so that they can sprawl on the sheets and Nick can lean over him to get the lube out of the bedside table. He wants this, wants Nick kneeling in between his legs, fingering Louis open until there's lube on Louis's thighs and on the sheets and the room smells like weirdly chemical tropical fruit because Nick likes the flavoured lube. Louis's never bothered exploring it before. He wants Nick ducking his head and licking around his fingers, wants to shiver and cry out as Nick stays there, his tongue pressed to Louis's arse. 

Louis's fingers catch in Nick's hair and he tries not to tremble as Nick's attention turns to Louis's balls, licking at them even as he's sneaking another finger inside of him. 

"Love you," Louis manages as Nick slides in a third finger. He hadn't meant to say it out loud but he can't help it. He's a mess and it's going to get worse, Nick focusing his attention on the root of Louis's cock, kissing the underside as he fingers him like that's completely fucking normal and not tearing Louis's world apart. 

He's a wreck by the end of it, desperate and breathless and shivering and ready to beg for something more, for Nick to slide inside of him and take the ache away, to fill him up and make him shake apart. He can't take much more, not without giving in and coming, and he's not doing that yet. Not without Nick. 

"Up here," Louis tells him, tugging Nick up the bed and away from his arse, cupping Nick's face and kissing him. His hands are shaking and he hopes Nick doesn't notice, kissing him again and again, breath catching even before Nick rolls them over so that Louis's on top, his dick trapped against Nick's stomach. 

He can feel Nick's dick, hard and slick and thick against his hip. 

"I love you," Louis says, and it feels like it's been dragged out of him, torn from his chest along with his breath. 

"Love you too," Nick manages, voice catching. He's rocking his hips up against Louis's, shifting them with a hand in the small of Louis's back. Louis wants to crawl inside of him and stay there. "God, Louis. Lou."

Louis swallows down a desperate, breathless kind of a noise. "Want you inside of me." He's already reaching for the lube again, unfolding Nick's hand so that he can squeeze out some onto his palm. He tries not to squeak as Nick wraps his hand around his dick, slicking himself up without the barrier of a condom. Christ. He reaches back behind himself, pressing the tips of his fingers into his hole, already slick and open. "Want to ride you. Want to be on top. Want to see." It's not just want, it's a fucking need. It trembles through him and he can't fucking stay still. 

He watches Nick fist his own fucking dick, watches him nod his yes. 

"Please," Louis begs. He can't hold on. He's so needy and desperate and he can't fucking stay still, not able to fucking figure out where he's supposed to stop and stay still and wait for Nick to fuck him. It takes Nick's hands on his arms to calm him down. It takes Nick to shift them around so that they're both in the right position so that Nick's lined up to slide inside of him, condom-free. 

That first press inside makes Louis's knees tremble. He burns with it, pushing down as Nick cants his hips up, and he's already breathless. His eyes feel wet. He reaches for Nick's hand and laces their fingers together, every bit of him begging for some kind of rooted touch, some kind of reminder that they're both still fucking here. 

He must make some kind of weird, desperate noise because Nick squeezes his hand. "Okay?"

Louis hurries a nod. "Yeah. Yeah. Just—" His heart pounds. "I trust you." He doesn't know why he says it. He doesn't know why he would. It's wrenching some kind of truth out from deep down inside of him, and it fucking hurts, saying it. Giving that much up. Nick's eyes are wet. "I trust you."

"Lou—"

Louis just shakes his head. He doesn't want to hear what Nick's got to say, isn't sure he's got it in him to make any sense of it. He closes the distance between them instead, bending down to kiss him, covering Nick's mouth with his own. He'll whisper his secrets into Nick's kiss instead, steal his truths, and hope that that's enough. 

He lifts Nick's hand to his mouth instead, pressing his mouth to Nick's fingers as Nick's hips rock up. 

"Do you want more?" Nick asks, as Louis clenches around him. His voice catches, and Louis can't help but think, _I did that_. He sinks down a little, thighs trembling, taking more of Nick in and he can't help the ragged breath he lets out. 

"Yeah," Louis manages. "You feel so fucking good. I can just…" he tries to remember words, even little ones would do, but his head's fucking mashed. "I can feel you. Inside. God, Nick. Like… I want more."

Nick makes a soft, desperate sound. "Move, Lou. Please."

And Louis can't resist being told what to do, not when it's like this. Normally he'd push back, rebel, rile Nick up until it's as fierce and as tough as he needs it to be, but he can't. His thighs burn with it. He's sweating. It's like — it's not quite right. Not quite there. "I can't. Fuck, I just want to kiss you. I can't kiss you like this. Can we switch?"

Nick nods his _fuck, yes_. 

Louis ends up on his back, legs spread, Nick kneeling over him and pushing inside of him even as Louis's reaching for him, drawing him down into a kiss. For something so urgent, they're gentle with it, barely rocking together even as Nick kisses him. There's just the two of them in this moment, maybe in all the world. 

They end up moving together, breaths catching, gasped-out shared kisses. Nick's inside of him, and Louis can fucking feel it, lube-slick but condom free. Louis's heart pounds with it. 

Just the two of them together. Just the two of them, Nick's hand in Louis's hair, Louis holding on to him just in case he disappears. 

Nick's orgasm creeps up on them slowly, hitched breaths and fingertips digging in, and he makes a soft, cut-off noise in the back of his throat as he starts to come. Nick comes inside of him and it's filthy and dirty and so, so fucking hot that Louis barely holds off coming himself. 

"I can feel it," Louis says without thinking about it. Nick's come, inside of him. "You're inside me." 

Nick buries his face in Louis's neck. He's breathing hard, his dick slipping out of Louis's arse, and Louis hasn't come yet. He still hasn't fucking come. 

"Can I lick you out?" Nick asks. His teeth nip at Louis's collarbone and Louis shivers, his hands stroking Nick's back. "I know it's a bit dirty but I want to. I want to."

Louis's nodding even before he manages to say yes. He practically shoves Nick down the bed, wrapping his hand around his dick even as Nick's positioning himself between his legs. 

He can't help but wonder what he looks like down there, whether Nick's come is sliding out of him, his balls drawn in tight, cock hard and leaking, knees up. He wants it so much, wants Nick, wants it dirty and filthy and fucking forever. 

When Nick leans in and presses his tongue to Louis's arse, Louis makes the oddest, half-strangled kind of a noise, his hand going straight to Nick's hair. "Oh my god. Nick. _Nick_." It's so fucking filthy, Nick licking his come out of Louis's arse. He might fucking die with it. 

Nick licks him, pressing his tongue inside, nudging Louis's thighs further apart so that he can get a better angle and it's the worst. It's the worst because Louis can't help but imagine what he looks like, spread out so desperate and so needy, wanting this so fucking much. He's barely going to last at all, even trying to slow down his hand on his dick. 

"I'm going to come," Louis tells him, breath hitching, panting his desperation out into the cool air of Nick's bedroom. 

Nick responds by sliding his fingertip inside of Louis then licking around it, and Louis can't help it. He clenches down on Nick's finger, head thrown back against the pillows, and starts to fucking come. 

Louis doesn't know how long it is until he reaches for Nick, dragging him up the bed. His cheeks feel wet. "Fuck."

"I know," Nick tells him. He's trembling and Louis can feel it beneath his fingertips, stroking down over Nick's arms and over his stomach and pulling him into a hug. Nick's doing the same, touching him over and over again. "Christ, I fucking know."

Louis buries his face in Nick's neck. He's trembling too. He tries to remember how to breathe. 

_Love you_ , he thinks, over and over and over. _Love you_. 

He's desperate for it to be enough.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thank you to **camiii** , **pillarboxred** , and **gentleantics** for reading this through and sharing their notes with me. Any remaining mistakes are my own. Basically **pillarboxred** has read this every time I've added ten words to it, so you can pretty much thank her for me managing to get this chapter done.  <3

~*~

Nick's alarm blares out loud and obtrusively the next morning, startling Louis awake and half into a sitting position before he's even realised where he is and what that noise could possibly be. It's Monday again, but Louis's stopped living in a world that has a defined working week. 

Next to him, Nick groans into the pillow and pulls the duvet up over his head. 

"Christ," Louis manages, sinking back down into the pillows. "Fuck that. Turn it off."

"Can't," Nick says, without removing the duvet from over his head. "Gotta go to work."

"Burn work to the ground," Louis tells him. He slides down under the covers and tries to ignore the alarm that Nick's making a half-hearted attempt to silence. Out in the hall, Puppy's heard it and woken up too, clattering up and down and wanting her breakfast. 

Nick groans again, pressing his nose into Louis's bicep. "Much rather stay at home and fuck you."

"That's beautiful," Louis says sleepily. His arse sort of aches a little, in a satisfying kind of a way. Christ, last night they'd done it without a condom. "So romantic."

"Didn't know you liked romance."

Louis doesn't know what to say to that. He only knows about romance in the context of what he's supposed to do for girlfriends. He doesn't know what the fuck to do with a boyfriend who's taller than him and has no fucking need for his chair being pulled out or gifts of flowers or perfume. All he knows how to do is to give his arse up. "Dunno," he says finally. "Don't know what's romantic when you're a bloke."

Nick huffs a breath. He rolls onto his side and wraps himself around Louis. "Same stuff as for anyone else, innit."

"Flowers and shit?"

"Flowers and shit," Nick agrees. He reaches for Louis's arse and gives it a bit of a squeeze. "Licking you out, that's romantic."

Louis shivers. Nick had come inside of him last night. If Nick licked him out right now, would he still be able to taste himself? He's half asleep but his dick makes a cursory attempt at waking up. "You've got work."

Nick at least sounds regretful. "I know. But, like, last night was all right, wasn't it? Never done that before."

Louis likes that Nick gets first times too. Louis feels consistently like he's going in fucking blind to every single bit of their relationship, every corner or breath just hiding another fucking thing that he has to learn or fuck up, and it's kind of nice that Nick doesn't know it all. "More than all right." He finds himself blushing and he definitely hadn't meant to do that. 

"S'nice, that," Nick says. He kisses Louis's cheek sleepily before rolling over to fuck with his phone. "Do you want a tea, or are you back off to sleep?"

"Tea," Louis says, although he's going back to sleep. Christ, yesterday he kissed Nick in front of everyone. He can't really fathom how he'd got there. It feels a bit like a blur, looking back. A fathomless blur. Kissing to going in without a condom to this. His friends, Nick's home, a Monday morning. 

Nick crawls out of bed, stumbling around to Louis's side of the bed to get Louis's empty water glass from the bedside table. Louis reaches for him, curling his fingers around Nick's bare thigh. 

"What?" Nick says. 

Louis presses his fingertips into Nick's leg, thumb stroking over the rough hairs. _I love you_ is on the tip of his tongue. He shakes his head instead. "Nothing," he says, and Nick's smile curves up at the edges.

"No, what?"

Louis shrugs a shoulder. "You still all right for my mum's next weekend?" 

"Yeah, course. Getting my new pyjamas and everything. You don't back out when you've got new pyjamas."

"You know we can't leave until after I've finished work." _Work_ next Friday means filming an interview with Jonathan Ross and then a segment for Children in Need. It'll be late by the time they even get to think about leaving London. It'll be even later when they finally get to Doncaster. 

Nick nods. "Yeah. I know. Don't need to worry about it affecting the PJs situation."

Louis refuses to think about what next weekend's going to look like, him going home and bringing Nick. Bringing a boyfriend. Going home and not being straight. He's rooted to Donny in a way no one else can ever fucking understand. It's a constant fucking heartbeat underneath his skin, a pulse guiding him home even when he's halfway around the world. 

If it's not the same, if it's changed, if home feels different then Louis doesn't fucking know how he's supposed to leave again. Sometimes he only manages to travel away from them because he knows he gets to come back at the end of it all, that no matter where he is in the world there's this keeping him rooted to the ground. 

He taps his finger against Nick's thigh. "All right."

Nick waits a beat, but doesn't say anything else. He smiles instead, a little lopsided. "When I get back from work we can go and pick the cars up from yesterday."

Louis nods. "Okay."

"I'll bring you that tea."

"Make it good."

Nick huffs a laugh. "Bet you you'll be asleep before the kettle's boiled."

"Won't," Louis says, but he mostly is already. 

~*~

Nick comes over for his tea on Wednesday night, which is probably a very bad idea because Louis's in a terrible mood and is spoiling for a fight. 

"Hiya," Nick says, coming out of the lift with a handful of bags and Puppy on her lead. "Proper shit weather out there, got soaked just coming from the car." He does look wet, his hair flat and everything else he's carrying looking a little worse for wear. 

Louis, who has only managed to graduate as far as wearing last week's tracksuit bottoms and hoodie, rolls his eyes. "Is Puppy going to leave muddy paw prints all round the flat for me to clean up, then?"

Nick watches him for a second. "No," he says with fairly little intonation. "I'll clean them up. Or I'll clean her up, if you've got a towel."

"If you've got a towel," Louis parrots. "Do I look like I've got a dog towel just waiting for you if you don't tell me you're bringing the dog?"

Nick sighs. "Give us your kitchen roll, then. Or whatever. I don't care. Here, Puppy, up you come. Come and have a hug from me. Can't have you making a mess of Uncle Louis's floor, can we?"

Louis feels shit. It doesn't make him any less sharp or spiky. Fuck, he's the fucking worst. "You'll get mud all over your coat."

"It's fine. You can clean a coat." 

Louis does not need fucking Nick being infuriatingly calm in the face of Louis's shit mood. He turns around and marches into the bathroom to see if there's a towel anywhere. He's not mad at Nick. He's not mad at Puppy. He's just—he doesn't even know. Everything's changing, everything around him and it won't fucking stop. His friends last weekend and his family next weekend, then there isn't even going to be time to stop and breathe because he's off to America on Tuesday and not coming back for another week. Without Louis around, Nick might realise he's too much hassle and not want him back. Maybe Nick's going to change his mind and won't want a long distance relationship, and half the fucking time Louis's going to be somewhere that isn't fucking here. 

Louis could just do with someone taking the edge off, just for a bit. He's been on the edge of fight or flight all fucking day, with no one to talk him down, and he just wants it to _stop_. 

He goes back out into the hall with an old Tommy Hilfiger towel in hand, a freebie from some perfume he'd picked up for one of his sisters at some point. Nick's still standing in the entryway, still in his coat, Puppy wriggling in his arms. 

Louis's shoulders slump. "You can put her down." 

"She needs her paws doing."

"It doesn't matter," Louis says, but he comes over anyway, towel unfolded, and rubs down her paws. Nick's right, they aren't that muddy, and Louis would be embarrassed but he's just so fucking sick of being on edge the whole time. "You're a good girl, aren't you," he tells her, scritching her between the ears. She gives him a little happy woof, her tail wagging. "The best girl, even when you're faced with me being a dick."

"She's all right," Nick says, and he puts her down, unclipping her lead. She noses around Louis's socked feet and then trundles off to explore. It's her first time here. "It is all right that I brought her, isn't it? Really?"

"Course," Louis says. He still feels it, the tension in his chest, the fact he can't fucking calm down, the way it feels like he could explode if given the slightest opportunity. "You taking your coat off, or what?"

"Dunno," Nick says. "You going to tell me what's wrong?"

"Nothing. That coat's rubbish." He shifts his balance from foot to foot. Nick's eyebrow twitches. Louis feels hot from head to toe. 

"Yeah?" 

"Don't you care that you're wearing a rubbish coat?" 

Behind him, Puppy trots out of the living room and then into the kitchen, nosing about and making it her own. 

"I like it."

"Yeah, well, I don't." Louis tilts his chin up. His fingers twitch. God, he's so sick of it all. Schedules and planning and flights and meetings and a boyfriend with stupid coats and a dog he just shows up with without asking first. 

Nick lets out a breath, picks up one of the bags from the floor, then says, "This needs to go in the fridge. If we leave it out, Puppy will be all over it." He doesn't offer up any information about what's in the bag, just walks past Louis and into the kitchen, then opens the fridge. Louis stays out in the hall, quivering. It's like someone's set him on his vibrate setting and not told him how to turn it off. 

"Sorry," he says, because he is. Because Nick's coat's fine and Louis's the one who can't be trusted with people. "Sorry."

Nick comes back out. He's unbuttoning his coat. He hangs it up by the door, then turns back around. "We talked about this," he says, taking a step towards Louis. 

"About what?"

Nick takes another step forward. "About goading me into pushing you around."

Christ. "I wasn't," he lies. God, he was. He just—he needs something he can't put fucking words to. 

Nick unwinds the scarf from around his neck, and drops it into one of his bags. "I thought we'd figured this shit out," he says. "I thought you knew you could just ask for it."

"It's not that." 

Nick lets out a breath. "Don't make me self-conscious about a coat I kind of like," he says, and Louis deflates. 

"Sorry," he says again, and his shoulders drop. He feels sick. "I'm sorry."

Nick crosses the rest of the hall and bumps Louis backwards into the wall. His knees bracket Louis's. He's wearing a black knitted jumper with too long sleeves and skinny jeans. His boots are brown suede, dark where they've been rained on, the effect a little like leopard print. Louis takes it all in too quickly, unable to focus his attention. 

"Tell me what you want."

The wall is hard against Louis's back. He's been getting steadily madder and madder all day long, trapped by this stupid flat he hates, missing Nick, trying to figure out how the fuck he's going to get through next week in America when he can't go one fucking day without him. He knows he needs Nick too much, he's not an idiot. He's fucked up and everything's upside down. He's terrified of taking Nick home with him, and terrified of not. He's scared about leaving him and going away. He's sick of feeling like this, tense and scared and like someone's turned him up so he's vibrating at eleven. He's tired of being this fucked up. 

He turns his head away. Puppy wanders out of the kitchen and back into the living room, not even sparing them a glance. 

"Louis," Nick says. He slides his hand down until he can circle his fingers around Louis's wrist. "Are you just in a bad mood, or is it something else? Cos if it's a bad mood I can leave you alone. Me and Puppy don't need to stay. Not if you don't want us to."

Louis shrugs a shoulder. He still doesn't look at Nick. He's getting hard, just from Nick bracketing him in like this. It's stupid how easy he is for it. 

"We'll go," Nick says. "Unless you tell me to stay."

Sometimes it's like his words are just being held prisoner in his chest. _Stay_ , he wants to say. _Please, please stay_. He can't make them come out of his mouth. 

"Louis."

"Stay," Louis says. His voice's rough. "Please."

There's a pause. "God," Nick says. His thumb strokes over the inside of Louis's wrist. "We have got to get better at this."

"I have to, you mean." 

Nick shrugs. "Do you want to start again? Puppy's knackered, she'll probably already be asleep on your sofa, but I can go back out and come back in again."

Louis tips forward and presses his forehead to Nick's shoulder. "No," he says. "Why's it so hard?"

"Which bit?"

"Asking for what I want."

"Dunno," Nick says, "but if you give me a clue then we can take it from there."

Louis doesn't move. "Make me be still," he says finally, because he's pretty sure that even Nick can tell how much he's vibrating. "Please, fucking make me be still."

Nick leans in and presses a kiss to the top of Louis's head. "Next time," he says. "Ask me. I like that coat."

Louis nods, but he doesn't unfurl and stand back up. He keeps his forehead pressed to Nick's shoulder. He twitches. "Push me around, will you? Just fucking push me around."

"All right."

Louis still doesn't move. "Remember that first time you held me down. Held my wrists." It was a long time ago. He means the first time he had gone over to Nick's, ages ago. Louis had wanted it so fucking much. Nick had held Louis's wrists down and it was the furthest Louis had ever come to settling any of the shit in his head, and he'd humiliated himself within about four fucking seconds by coming in his jeans. Sometimes when he thinks back to that night he ends up putting his head in his hands in sheer fucking embarrassment. 

"Yeah?"

Louis pretends that Nick can remember holding him down without remembering him coming in about three fucking seconds. "That," he says. "I want that."

Nick touches at Louis's cheek, tilting his chin up. He's still holding Louis's wrist with his other hand. He looks sort of sad. Louis fucking hates that. "Half the time I don't think either of us know how to say any of the stuff in our heads," he says, and Louis thinks _either of us_ is code for just Louis. "So, like, it's probably easy for this stuff to go off at a tangent. Different to how we imagined it. Promise me you'll tell me to stop if it's not what you want."

"I'm fine," Louis says, wriggling a little in Nick's grip. 

"No," Nick says. "I need you to promise. For me."

Louis lets out a breath. "I promise, all right. If it's not right. I'll tell you."

"Swear it," Nick says. "I can't—I can't do this if I can't trust that you'll tell me if I'm doing it wrong."

Christ. They're both in a mess. Louis tilts his head back against the wall. Nick's gaze is urgent. 

"I promise you." Louis is already hard. "I swear. I'll tell you. I'll say Spanish."

"All right." Nick keeps on looking at him, eyes searching. Louis shifts a bit, tugging at Nick's hand where it's still circling his wrist. 

"Please. Please, Nick."

Nick lets out a ragged breath, lets go of Louis's wrist, and cups Louis's face in his hands. He holds him there, holds him still, and Louis tries to move, tries to step forward, but Nick won't let him. Nick pushes him back instead, until he's bumping back against the wall again and he lets out the breath he's been holding with a rough exhale. Nick kisses him then, covers Louis's mouth with his own, holding Louis's face still in his hand. Louis kisses back, urgent, like all the frustrations and stresses of his day are seeping into his kiss, but it's still not enough. He presses forward, pushing at Nick, urging him back, and Nick shakes his head, but doesn't stop kissing him. 

Nick isn't stronger than Louis. He's not built like a brick shithouse or a secret weight lifter. He can't stop Louis from pushing if Louis wants to push, but he'll push back, and he's taller. His hands are bigger. He'll press Louis back into the wall and stand over him, and he'll do it over and over again, and then he'll tell Louis to stay still and Louis fucking craves it. His skin crawls with needing it, with desperate want, with something else, a fierce need that's crawling out of his chest with every breath. Louis pushes him, and Nick presses him back against the wall again, nudging Louis's knees apart with his thigh. 

Louis's hard, and he knows Nick can feel it, and Louis meets Nick's gaze square on before he rubs his dick against Nick's thigh. 

"Fuck," Nick says, and then he's sliding his hands around Louis's bicep and Louis can feel his fingertips digging in, and he wants it, he _wants_ it. Nick tugs him forwards, into his arms, and Louis trips into him, stumbling forward as he tries to meet Nick's mouth in a kiss. Nick's not having any of it, though. Nick turns him around so that Louis's back is pressed to Nick's chest, and Nick cups Louis's dick in his hand. "So fucking hard already," Nick murmurs, his other hand tight around Louis's arm. He squeezes Louis's dick through his tracksuit bottoms. "Mouthing off because you needed sorting out."

Louis nods. Nick's mouth is on his neck. "Don't leave marks," he says. "You can't leave marks."

"What about where people can't see them?"

Louis shivers, pressing back, rubbing his arse over Nick's dick. He can feel him getting hard. "Where no one will see," he says, thinking about this weekend, about dressing rooms and families and travelling across the sea. "No one but me."

"Like it when I mark you up," Nick says, still cupping Louis's dick. He lets go of Louis's arm to wrap his arm around Louis's chest, pinning him close. "Like it when I make it so you stay still for me."

"Yeah," Louis manages. "Yeah, me too."

Nick lets out a breath. "Going to make you feel so good," he whispers, kissing Louis's throat, and Louis shivers with it, trembling. Nick smiles at that, and Louis can feel it against his skin, even as Nick's pushing him in the direction of the wall, turning him around again so that his back's pressed up against it. He moves Louis's hands so that they're above his head, fingers touching. "Just wait here whilst I sort out Puppy. Two minutes."

And then Nick steps away, picking up one of the bags he's brought in with him, one of the larger ones, and walks into the kitchen without looking back. 

Louis, breathless already, drops his chin and stays exactly where Nick put him. His heart's pounding, that same feeling of tension and caged adrenaline that's been driving him mad all day just burning beneath his skin. "Nick—"

Nick's in the kitchen, banging things about. The tap runs, then stops again. "Puppy," he calls, "Dinner."

Puppy emerges quick-smart from the living room, nails loud against the laminate in the hall. She doesn't even spare Louis a glance before darting into the kitchen. 

"There you go, Pup. Hopefully that'll keep you quiet. And I'm going to put your cushion in the hall, and your toys, so you'll have precisely no reason at all to bother me and Louis, right?" Nick comes back out into the hall with a cushion in one hand and a couple of dog toys in the other. He puts them on the floor just inside the door to the living room, then turns around. 

Louis can't help but look at him. His breath catches in his chest. His hands are still above his head.

"You stayed where I put you," Nick says softly. 

Louis flushes red. He tries to look away. "Didn't you want me to?" He's such an idiot. He doesn't know what the fuck he's doing. He doesn't even know exactly what it is he wants, let alone how he's supposed to ask for it. 

"No, God, yes, of course, yes." Nick's just standing there. He stretches his hands out, fingers long. "Christ, Louis. Get yourself here."

Louis lobs himself across the hall for want of something better to do, messily avoiding the remaining bags that Nick's left by the lift, and chucks himself into Nick's arms. They trip back into the wall and Nick cups Louis's face in his hands, kissing him even as Louis's trying to get his hands under Nick's jumper. He wants to touch skin, wants to feel the heat of Nick's body beneath his fingers. They get turned around, Louis catching his elbow against the door frame and yelping into Nick's mouth. Nick bumps them into the wall by the kitchen, shoving the bags out of their way with a foot as he walks Louis backwards, in the general direction of the bedroom. It's not careful and it's not pretty; Louis catches his other elbow and trips over Nick's foot and knocks his head on the wall as Nick gets them turned around, but they keep on kissing, Louis with one hand in the small of Nick's back, the other gripping his arm. 

Louis's bedroom is a mess, but he doesn't care. He'd changed the sheets that morning, shoving the dirty ones in a pile behind the bathroom door and making the bed again with the new bedding he'd bought in Nick's honour. He'd looked online, trying to find something that looked like it might not be out of place in Nick's flat, and he'd ended up spending over fifty quid per pillowcase and god knows what in total on a set of deep, wine-red sheets with rich, satin stripes on the duvet cover. He'd then paid an additional fuck knows what to have someone from his team go and collect them for him, then have them washed and ironed and folded, then finally, delivered to his door that morning. 

He'd felt stupid the whole time he was putting them on, the whole time he was sweating, standing on the mattress, trying to get the duvet cover to drop right as he held the duvet up above his head. He felt stupid for trying to make his bed look nice for Nick coming over, for the fact that the red didn't suit the room, for the fact that he was an idiot for even trying to keep up with Nick, who seemed to enjoy making his flat look nice and buying stuff like this. 

He feels stupid now, as Nick's walking him backwards towards the bed, fingers splayed across Louis's cheek, kissing him all the way. He stumbles into the bed and doesn't manage to stay on his feet, ending up sprawled across his new sheets with Nick landing on top of him with an _oomph_. 

Nick grabs Louis's hand then, lifting it up and over Louis's head, then reaches for his other one. Louis gives in easily, even as Nick's holding both of Louis's wrists in one of his hands, pinning them to the bed. It's startlingly, desperately similar to that first time in Nick's flat, all those months ago. Louis rocks his hips up, dick hard. 

"Touch me," he begs. "Please. _Please_."

Nick covers Louis's dick with his other hand. "This gets you so hard," he says, and Louis is breathless, catching wonder in Nick's voice where there probably isn't any. That first time they'd done this Louis had wanted to die with it, wanted to push and push and push until there wasn't anywhere else left to fall. "What do you want?"

Louis bites his lip. "This," he says. His heart's pounding. "I just want this."

Nick's eyes are bright. He rubs the heel of his hand over Louis's dick, and Louis cants his hips up. His erection tents out his sweatpants. He tries to move his wrists but Nick's grip is hard. Louis isn't going anywhere and it should make his chest tighter, but it doesn't. It doesn't. 

It makes him feel like he can breathe. 

Nick's still touching him, rubbing the flat of his hand over the length of Louis's dick through his tracksuit. Louis rolls his hips to meet Nick's hand, and Nick leans in to kiss him. Louis kisses back, his teeth catching Nick's lip, and he's breathless and held down and all Nick's doing is essentially wank him off through his trousers, but it's the most free Louis's felt all day. His hands are trapped and he feels free. 

When Nick stops touching him, Louis whines his complaint into Nick's kiss, rolling his hips up. 

Nick slaps his thigh. "Stay still." 

It's not hard enough to properly hurt, and they haven't got as far as talking about Louis getting hit, but Louis goes suddenly, desperately still anyway. He quivers. 

"Louis?" 

Louis shakes his head. Nick had sounded a little uncertain. "It's okay. It's good."

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

Nick kisses the corner of his mouth, then plucks at the waistband of Louis's sweatpants. It pings back against his skin, barely enough to sting, but Louis makes a noise anyway. Nick shoves them down just enough that Louis's dick is free. It sort of springs up of its own accord, a little enthusiastic wave hello that Louis would be embarrassed about except that Nick's holding him down and it's all he fucking wants. 

"No pants?"

Louis doesn't shrug. "No," he says, and leaves it at that.

"I get little wet patches if I try and go commando," Nick says. "Always worried people are going to see them, you know, on my jeans or whatever."

Louis blinks. "Does it look like I care right now?"

"I don't know," Nick says. "I'm just saying."

"Aren't you in the middle of something?"

"Yeah, telling you this." 

Louis rolls his eyes. "I've got my cock out, here."

"Yes, and I'm holding you down. It's not like you're going anywhere. You are a pretty fucking captive audience. Could tell you anything right now. Tell you about what I had for my tea yesterday. What Miley Cyrus was like in the Live Lounge this morning."

Louis one hundred per cent does not think about what being a real captive audience would feel like. He could get away from Nick in about a second, if he really wanted to. Couldn't get out of cuffs that fast. 

Nick's eyes narrow. "What are you thinking about? You got all, like, flushed and stuff."

"Nothing. Got my cock out, haven't I? Going to be a bit, like, flushed and stuff."

"Hmm," Nick says, giving Louis a quick once-over. Another thing Louis isn't thinking about is what he must look like, half hanging off the bed, tracksuit bottoms pushed down enough that his dick's free. Hands above his head. 

Nick wraps his hand around Louis's dick and starts to wank him off, grip a little fierce. Louis's breath catches and he tries to reach for Nick, tries to pull him in to kiss him again, but he can't. His wrists are trapped. 

"Ask me," Nick says. "Tell me what you want."

"You," Louis says. Nick's face curves into a smile. "Kissing me."

Nick's mouth's on Louis's barely a moment after Louis's finished talking. Louis kisses back, arching up off the bed as Nick holds his wrists down, and he's so startlingly easy for being held down like this, for Nick pinning his wrists to the bed and jerking him off. He's not far off coming and they've barely begun. 

It beats the three seconds it had taken him that first time, though. Pre-come blurts from the tip, and Nick ends up stealing it for slick, and Louis shivers with it, teeth catching at Nick's lip as Nick keeps on kissing him. 

_I love you_ , he thinks, alongside _I'm so fucking easy for you_. His breath hitches as the edge of Nick's nail catches along the length of Louis's dick, and he whimpers into Nick's kiss. Nick's kissing him harder, kissing him fiercer as he does it again. 

Nick moves his attention from Louis's dick to his balls, cupping them in his hand, squeezing a little so that Louis whines with it, hips rocking up. 

"Like that, do you?" Nick asks, thumb stroking. 

It's just... it's not okay, how he's reacting to this. He's flushed and desperate, breathless and hard. Nick's hands on him make him want to curl up and hide, because he can't keep secrets like this, not when Nick's watching him, touching him, seeing him react. 

He doesn't want Nick to stop. "Nick—"

Nick shakes his head, pressing the flat of his hand to Louis's wrists. "Thought you were going to keep still?"

"Sorry," Louis says quickly. "Sorry, sorry."

"Stay still," Nick tells him, switching his attention back to Louis's dick, wrapping his fist around it. "Or I'll make you."

Louis tries to hold on, tries to keep it inside, tries to stop himself from coming, but he can't. He can't. He starts to come with Nick's hand on him, crying out as Nick jerks him through it. You don't come from having your balls played with; it's not fucking normal. He's fucking writhing on the sheets. It's humiliating. He closes his eyes, and when he opens them, Nick's looking down at him, eyes bright. 

"God," Nick says softly, and lets go of Louis's wrists. 

Louis kicks out with a foot. It doesn't connect. He rolls over onto his side. He's flushed pink, his tracksuit bottoms still shoved down to his thighs. Now his arse is out and he doesn't fucking know what to do. He keeps fucking coming when he's not supposed to, finding the wrong stuff hot, like his brain is all wired backwards. 

"Louis."

"What," Louis says, a little sulkily. He's still a little breathless. He'd come at the idea of being made to keep still, again. Again. 

Nick touches his hip. He's a little hesitant. Louis hates that. He hates that he makes Nick hesitant. "You all right?"

"Course," Louis says. He sighs, relenting. He rolls back over, one hand behind his head. He's still flushed, his heart beating fast. "Not all that normal, is it? The stuff that makes me come."

Nick's smile is a little lopsided. "I don't know. Gets me hard too."

Louis glances down. Nick's jeans are tented out. He can't help but reach out and undo the top button of Nick's jeans. The zip makes a concerted effort to slide open by itself. "Feels weird," he says. "Not you. Just me. Stuff that turns me on."

"I don't think so. I like it."

Louis edges Nick's zip down a bit. It sticks a bit and he tries to be careful. It's awkward doing it one-handed. "You're just saying that," he says, without meeting Nick's eyes. All that pushing around and pinning down and pissing and everything. Dead weird and not in the least bit normal. "What do you want?"

"You," Nick says. He takes over with his zip and pushes his jeans down, and then his underwear. He's right, there is a little wet patch on his underwear. Louis fights the urge to lick it. "I don't know. What do you want?"

"To suck you off," Louis says. He shifts on the bed, moving so that his head's on the pillows and he's not hanging off the side anymore, but he doesn't make any move to take his trackies off. He leaves them where they are, his dick out. "You could fuck my mouth."

Nick's cock does a happy little bounce at that, which Louis likes. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Louis says. He reaches back above his head, for one of the slats in the headboard, fingers gripping tight. Nick's eyes are bright. "You'd be in charge."

"You like that," Nick says. 

Louis makes sure his gaze is fixed just to the right of Nick's face so he doesn't have to meet Nick's eyes. He nods anyway, a little jerky. It's not like it's news to either of them. He's blushing. 

Nick stands up so that he can kick his jeans and pants off. The rest of his clothes follow until he's naked, then he arranges himself on the bed so that he's got one knee either side of Louis's thighs. "You like that," Nick says again. "Me being in charge. Don't you?"

"Don't get smug," Louis tells him, refusing to meet his gaze. His dick's making a cursory attempt at another stiffy already. "It's all right. Suppose."

Nick rolls his eyes, which sort of makes Louis want to kick him. He's got his hand wrapped around his dick though, and he shifts so that he's kneeling over Louis's chest. 

Louis licks his lips. 

"Greedy," Nick says, and he leans forward a little, enough so that he can rest his hand against the wall to balance himself. He bumps his dick against Louis's bottom lip, then feeds his dick into Louis's mouth slowly, not pressing the issue. 

It's a weird feeling, being on his back like this, Nick's dick an odd sort of weight in his mouth. He moves his tongue a little experimentally, and Nick huffs out a breath. 

"Yeah," he says. "Like that, Lou. So good." Nick doesn't push that far inside, his fist still wrapped around the base of his dick. Louis is quite good at blowjobs so long as he doesn't have to take Nick all the way down; his gag reflex has a tendency to show up at the least opportune moments. 

But being like this, hands above his head, Nick kneeling over him, his dick in Louis's mouth—he's sure it should feel wrong. He's sure he should feel like letting those thoughts in his head that sometimes shout _give in to it_ over and over again a chance to take centre stage is wrong, but it never does. It only ever feels good. 

It's afterwards it feels bad.

Nick gives it to him slowly, fucking Louis's mouth fairly gently. For all Louis's pleas for Nick to push him around, it doesn't mean _now_ , and that Nick knows it without even explicitly asking makes Louis's chest ache. He wants this, to be bracketed by Nick's thighs, to be still, to be used when he needs to be used, but there's always a part of him that's scared by what he wants. He's never understood all the stuff that swirls around in his head, the weird little wants and needs that he can't coalesce into one cohesive whole. There's just bits of him, all these different scraps that make him up, and half the time he's got no fucking clue how to hold them all together. 

Louis sucks him off, messy and shallow, the angle making it difficult to take any more of him than just the tip. Nick makes these little noises though, breath catching in little huffs, skin pinking. He blurts pre-come onto Louis's tongue, and Louis's making that happen. This lovely boy, this boy who loves him, who doesn't give up on him even though Louis keeps building walls as quickly as Nick can knock them down. 

His chest's tight. 

He sucks him off, determined to be the best, to give Nick what he wants. He hollows his cheeks and tries to remember how to breathe around a dick, and he's rewarded by Nick's breathless smile as his hips press forward, just enough for Louis's breath to catch. 

Louis loves him, he loves him so fucking much, but he doesn't know how to be enough to make him stay. 

Nick comes slowly, eventually, the build-up long and breathless. Louis's jaw aches but he swallows most of it, some of it running down his chin. Nick reaches for the roll of toilet paper on the bedside table and tears off a few sheets. He hands them to Louis to wipe his chin even as he's rolling off him and sinking down into the sheets next to him, the duvet pushed down to the bottom of the bed. 

Louis wipes his mouth, then stretches out his fingers from where he's been gripping the headboard. He's half embarrassed, even now, even though he's no longer new to sucking dick. He shrugs off his trackies so that he's naked, and they're not resting mid-thigh anymore. He drinks down some of the water in the pint glass on the bedside table before lying back down. 

"Feeling a bit better?" Nick asks, after a minute. He's propped up on his elbow, facing him. His dick's flopped to one side, tip brushing the sheets. 

"Course," Louis says. He resists the urge to reach out and touch Nick's soft dick. His voice is a bit hoarse. He clears his throat. "Yeah. You know. Yeah."

Nick lets out a breath. "Lou. About before."

"I know, I know, all right? No goading. Just ask for it. I know."

"I wasn't..." Nick sighs again, then strokes his hand over Louis's stomach, fingers curving over his hip. "Just, like, so long as you know. It doesn't matter what you ask for. Doesn't matter how weird you think it is. I'll give you what I can, all right? But you can't just, like, try and make me mad like before. It doesn't work like that."

Louis inexplicably wants to cry. "I didn't—"

"I won't ever push you around because I'm mad at you," Nick says, cutting him off. "I'm not ever going to do that. And it's not the fucking same as what we do, and sometimes I'm scared you don't know the difference."

"I do. I swear I do." 

Nick's face softens. "Louis."

"I won't do it again. I promise. I won't."

"I just wish you'd talk to me. Tell me how you're feeling."

Louis wants to bury his face in the pillow and sob. They're all stuck inside of him, these stupid thoughts he can't put into words. Even if he keeps them locked away inside, they still cause him trouble. Everything that's wrong inside of him is wrong whether it's inside or out. His face crumples. 

"Hey," Nick says. "None of that, love. Don't get upset."

"I'm not," Louis lies, but he lets Nick pull him into a hug, wrapping his arms around Louis's back and kissing the top of his head. "I'm trying," he says finally, words pressed to Nick's shoulder. "I'm trying so hard."

"I know," Nick says finally, and he doesn't let go of him, not for one second. Louis hugs him back harder. 

"I don't know what I'm doing. I've got no fucking clue what I'm doing. I'm fucking it all up."

"You're not. I promise you're not."

"I bought sheets," Louis says, and he buries his face in Nick's chest. 

Nick shifts a little. "Thought I hadn't seen them before." He pauses. "They're really nice. Did you get them just for me?"

Louis nods, but doesn't pull away. "Thought if I was going to ask you to stay over more, you could at least have a posh duvet cover or something so you didn't miss home too much."

Nick's fingers tangle in his hair. He kisses the top of Louis's head. 

"I'm sorry," Louis says. "Please don't leave."

"I love you," Nick says, too soft, too gentle. Louis shivers with it, because he's mean and an idiot and Nick loves him anyway, and Louis doesn't deserve any of it. It must be like loving a fucking storm.

"I'm sorry. For before. Just had a shit day."

Nick keeps stroking his hair. "Been looking forward to seeing you all day," he says. "Picked us up food and everything. Brought Puppy to see you."

Louis rubs his nose over Nick's chest. "Don't," he says. "I'm sorry."

"Why was your day so shit?"

Louis shrugs. "Dunno," he says, which is only partly a lie. He moves a little, resting his cheek against Nick's chest so he can play with Nick's nipple, catching it between finger and thumb. "Just worried about this weekend and going away next week and stuff. Stuck in here all day long too."

"You worried about me meeting your mum?"

"A bit." He's never really kept anything from his mum before, but this secret's been building for years. "What if you don't like her?"

"I will."

"But what if you don't?" 

Nick laces his fingers with Louis's. "We both like you, right? We've got that in common at least."

Louis nods. "Suppose." He nips his teeth at Nick's nipple, switching at the last moment to licking it.

Nick shivers. "Get off my nips."

"Nah," Louis says, and licks him again. He doesn't want to talk. He doesn't want to think over all the ways he's not good enough. He just wants Nick. "Are the sheets all right, then?"

"Properly nice," Nick says, trying to wriggle out of Louis's embrace, probably so that Louis stops licking his nipple. "I feel very touched that you bought them for me."

"Well, it's Princess and the Pea, innit? Except the pea's my shit taste in home decor. You're still going to be able to see it. Doesn't matter even if there's nice sheets."

"Thought you didn't pick out the black and chrome in here? Also, who are you calling Princess?"

"You," Louis says. He licks at Nick's nipple again. Nick's chest hair's rough beneath Louis's thumb. "And no, all that furniture came with it."

"You know," Nick says carefully, "just for the record, you could start looking for somewhere else. If you're not happy here."

Louis stills. "Too much hassle, innit? Moving." he says. "Anyway, who says my taste in furniture's going to be any better than the banker wanker who had this place before me?"

Nick shrugs. "Dunno. Even if your taste is proper shit, though, at least you'd like it."

"Nah. You won't come over if it looks like I've just gone through the Argos catalogue with a highlighter."

"I would, you know," Nick says finally. "Probably even if you bought me Elizabeth Duke for my birthday."

"Only probably?"

"Depends what it was, though. I once met a bloke who had a single stud earring, you know what I mean, and it was just the England three lions, like, the crest thing. I asked him where he got it from, and he was like, Argos. £19.99."

"Wow. And here I was, not knowing what to get you for Christmas." Louis pauses. "Could have got it for our anniversary. If I'd known before today, you know."

"Louis—"

"One month," Louis says. "It's been a month. Today."

"You got new sheets," Nick says softly. 

Louis nods. "Picked them out myself."

"Invited me over for dinner and everything."

"Yep," Louis says. He studiously concentrates on Nick's chest hair instead of his face. "Then I fucked it up, didn't I? Got myself all mixed up over whether to say anything or not. About how I didn't know if it was okay to be romantic, or if you just did that for girls. If I was being an idiot for caring about a stupid date."

"Christ," Nick says. 

Louis flicks at Nick's nipple with his fingertip. "Love you, don't I?" he says. "Just love you. Even when I don't know what I'm doing and I mess it all up."

"I think romantic's nice," Nick says finally. "I think you're nice. I think the sheets are lovely."

Louis tries to smile. He'd wanted to do something nice. Something special. "Never had a boyfriend for a month before."

"I barely have," Nick says. "And anyway, I didn't love any of them, so it's not the same."

Louis makes a face. He doesn't want to think about any of Nick's other boyfriends. "I tidied up," he says. "In the living room. I just changed the sheets in here but I set the table and everything. Then I felt stupid."

"Why, love?"

He shrugs again. "Dunno. Don't know what it's okay to do if you're both blokes."

Nick lets out a breath. "It's the same, you know." He sounds sad. Louis hates that. "It can just be the same."

"I'm so scared of losing you." Louis presses his forehead to Nick's chest. "I lost you once. I don't want to lose you again by messing it up."

"Sometimes, you know," Nick tells him, pulling Louis closer, "you make me want to fucking weep."

 _Christ_ , Louis thinks. _Christ_. He closes his eyes. "Love you."

"Yeah," Nick says, kissing the top of his head. His fingers catch in Louis's hair. "Right back at you."

They stay like that for a minute, wrapped around each other, Louis's dick soft against Nick's hip. Sometimes Louis wants to touch Nick everywhere, map his skin beneath his fingertips. He trails his fingers over Nick's chest, chest hair rough beneath his touch. He shifts a little, cheek to Nick's shoulder, his view better now as he traces out Nick's pecs. 

"Whatcha doing?" Nick asks finally. Louis's still touching him, down his chest and over to his hip. It's been a couple of minutes.

"Learning you," Louis says, without looking up. 

Nick's a little sensitive to touch sometimes, and Louis can feel him tremble as he runs his fingers up and over his ribs, crooked finger catching on the underside of Nick's bicep. Nick really does shiver then, clearly a little ticklish. Louis smiles. Nick's been keeping this one secret. He grazes his finger over Nick's arm, up and into his armpit, and Nick squeaks out some kind of a noise that Louis hasn't heard before. 

He tilts his head back so he can meet Nick's gaze. "What the fuck was that?"

"Nothing," Nick says, cheeks a little flushed. 

Louis raises his eyebrows. He shifts his hand a little, fingertips to Nick's armpit again, and Nick makes a different, equally strangled sort of a noise, and goes bright red. "Nicholas," Louis says. He doesn't want to talk about anything serious anymore, and if it takes poking Nick's squeaky bits to navigate a change in direction, he'll do just that. "Nicholas."

"Lou-is," Nick says, pronouncing the _s_. He clamps his arms to his sides. 

Louis cocks his head to one side. "Is this new?"

"No. I mean—it's nothing."

"You were, like, pretty soft, like, four seconds ago. Now you're half way to hard."

"Am not," Nick says, which is quite clearly a lie. Louis pokes at Nick's dick with the tip of his finger. 

"What's this, then?"

"It's our one-month anniversary. You're naked. What else could it possibly be?"

Louis lets out a breath. "I don't know. Definitely can't be you getting turned on cos I've got my finger in your pit."

"Definitely not," Nick says. He's still bright pink. This is lovely. Louis is on his way to forgetting he'd almost fucked everything up, because this is something Nick finds hot, and Louis didn't know about it. Louis has hardly ever got to find anything weird and sexy that Nick likes, because the top 95 slots on the top 100 weird-o-meter are all entirely taken over by him. 

Louis leans over. "Let me see."

"No. You'll tickle me. I hate being tickled."

"Cross my heart. I'll just touch, I promise."

"Hmmmm." 

"Swear to God," Louis says. "No tickling on anniversaries."

Nick looks unconvinced, but, nevertheless he very gingerly lifts his arm up again. 

Louis reaches over and touches his fingertips to Nick's armpit. Nothing happens. It's almost disappointing, until Louis crooks his finger and traces a letter _L_ into Nick's armpit, and Nick tries and fails to swallow down a moan.

"Well," Louis says. "This is interesting."

"This is boring," Nick says quickly. 

"Is it just if I touch you?" Louis asks, tracing out a _T_. The hair under Nick's arm is a little less coarse than the hair on his chest. He's pretty sure Nick's trembling. 

"As opposed to what?"

"Dunno," Louis says, and then he shifts position so he can press his tongue to Nick's armpit. It's not that gross. It tastes like Nick smells. He does it again. 

The strangled whine suggests it isn't just if Louis touches him. 

"Well, well, well," Louis says. He rolls away a little. Nick's mostly hard. Louis smiles. "Thought you were too old for a quick turnaround."

"Depends who's turning me around," Nick says. He puts his arm behind his head. "Come here and kiss me."

Louis obeys, cupping Nick's face in his hands and pressing his mouth to Nick's. "I like discovering new stuff about you," he says, in between kisses. His knee slots comfortably between Nick's thighs. "Like it a lot."

"Same," Nick says, teeth nipping at Louis's bottom lip. "And I'll let you figure it all out later, but firstly, how do you feel about trifle for starter? Made us one for pudding but I kind of just want to eat it now."

Louis sits back. "You made us a trifle?"

"From scratch," Nick says. He goes a little red under Louis's gaze. "You said bring pudding. I didn't know it was for an anniversary, but, like, you said you liked it once. So. I made it."

"I made us a tuna pasta bake," Louis says. "I've never made one before. It might be terrible."

"So might the trifle," Nick says, and pulls Louis into another kiss. 

At least for tonight, Louis thinks, kissing him, Nick's not going anywhere. He's staying. 

~*~

The final arrangements for their trip to Doncaster turn out to be even more of a fucking ball ache than Louis had initially imagined, and it's only when he's in the back of a car that's trying to find a particular car park somewhere off the North Circular late on Friday night that he stops to consider that maybe going north isn't actually a good idea at all. 

He's being dropped off, meeting Nick and his car apparently somewhere only Nick's GPS knows the existence of. His car's gone round the block two times already, like they're circling a drain and eventually they'll get close enough to just drive round and round Nick's car and Louis can crawl out the back seat and into Nick's passenger seat and pretend that none of this is happening. 

He's knackered already, yawning and tired and nervous. Anticipation rackets around his body like a pinball, a constant reminder that he's taking Nick Grimshaw home with him. 

He's taking his boyfriend home with him and it doesn't matter how it goes this weekend, things aren't ever going to be the same again. 

His phone buzzes. 

_Am here_ , Nick's text reads. _Where are you?_

 _Fuck knows_ , Louis texts back. _This guys driving in circles_

_Hurry up. Got you a maccy d's and if you don't get here soon I'm going to have to eat it_

Louis makes a face. _Hands off my fucking food :(_

Nick sends him a selfie of him licking the McDonald's bag. It's terrible and revolting and Nick is the worst, and Louis loves him so fucking much. He loves him. 

_Hate you_ , Louis sends back. 

_Nah_ , Nick's next message says. _Hurry up xxx_

When Louis's driver finally finds the right car park, it's deserted apart from Nick's car pulled in right in the corner. It belongs to a printing company on a trading estate, the offices all in darkness. There's just Nick's car idling, a weird sort of shadowed half-light from the front seat where Nick's fucking around on his phone.

Louis tells his driver to go, and then stands in the car park and waits until he can see the tail lights disappearing around the corner before heading over to where Nick's waiting.

"Hello, lover," Nick says as Louis climbs in and chucks his rucksack onto the back seat. "Good night being famous and all?"

"Pretty good, yep," Louis says. He faffs around a bit, taking his jacket off and throwing it behind him after his rucksack. The little overhead light goes out as he sits back down in his seat. "Put my name in lights and everything, you know how I like that."

"Indeed," Nick agrees, leaning over and running his thumb over Louis's jaw. "I do like it when they light you up."

Louis shivers. "Yeah, yeah," he says. "Everyone knows I'm the star of your show."

"Yep," Nick says, and kisses the corner of Louis's mouth. "Sure are. You ready to go?"

"Course." It's going to be really, really late by the time they get to Louis's mum's, which has its benefits. He gets to put off introducing Nick to everyone but his mum until the morning, which has to be a tick in every column except the _putting off the inevitable_ one. "You still up for it?"

"Packed my new pjs and everything," Nick says, turning on the engine and tossing his phone and the bag of McDonald's into Louis's lap. "Buckle up. You can pick the music."

Louis fastens his seatbelt. "You must love me if you're letting me pick the music." It's their first trip anywhere together, their first shared car journey. Considering how long they've been messing around with each other, all their firsts are back to front and upside down. 

"You haven't seen what happens if you pick something shit yet." 

Louis starts scrolling through Nick's music. He's looking for One Direction, in case Nick has any of their stuff, and he can't help the little intake of breath when he finds all of their albums in neat order. He can't be bothered looking for anything specific in the rest of Nick's collection, giving up and pressing shuffle. He's more interested in getting started on his Big Mac. Shuffle lands on Jay-Z and Kanye as Nick does a pretty shit reverse out of the parking space, narrowly avoiding hitting a tree. 

"You're so shit."

"I'm just warning you, I'm going to leave you at the services if you make fun of my driving."

"Sure."

Nick rolls his eyes. "This was the first song I ever played on The Breakfast Show, you know."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Start as you mean to go on, I reckon. I think you'll agree I am suffering from realness."

"You're such a fucking tosser," Louis says, and he means it, apart from how he doesn't. Nick just laughs at him, and sings along. Louis opens his burger, tries to ignore the relentless reminder of _everything has consequences_ pulsing through his veins, and lets Nick drive them north. Lets Nick drive him home. 

~*~

The car finally idles away into silence, and Louis doesn't move. His heart's pounding. They're here. He's home. 

The house is in darkness except for the living room, but Louis's certain he sees the curtain flick to one side. His mum. 

"You all right?" Nick asks carefully. Louis's been a mixture of frenetic and silent on the way up, flicking between songs without even letting them getting thirty seconds in, then staring out onto the motorway and letting the shit stuff play all the way through. They'd stopped at a services half way here, Nick going inside to get them both a coffee and a bag of Maltesers to share. They'd drunk half the coffee in the dark, parked right in the far corner of the car park, before Louis had deemed it safe to dash in to the loo, hood up and baseball cap pulled down low. 

He'd needed it since they'd left London, and if he'd have had his way, he wouldn't have gone. He'd have gone on needing it until it was too late, until he'd have had to beg Nick to let him go right there in the car, until he'd cried with the shame of it and Nick would have stroked his fingers over Louis's dick and told him to come. 

Louis's fantasies had turned oddly specific since coming back off tour to Nick. He wishes he could ask for them.

"Louis," Nick says again. "You all right?"

"Course," Louis lies. "Bring blokes home all the time, don't I?"

Nick sighs. "It'll be okay," he says. "Your mum's told you it's all right."

"Yeah, course," Louis says, but knowing that doesn't mean he isn't terrified. It doesn't mean that everything hasn't changed. 

"Come on," Nick says. "Do you think your mum's going to be well impressed with my jumper or should I have gone for something posher? First impressions, and all that?"

It's dark in the car and Louis only makes a cursory glance over at what Nick's wearing. It's a red and black striped jumper, one Louis's seen a handful of times. The sleeves come down over Nick's hands and whenever he wears it he keeps having to push them up. Louis gets secret glance after secret glance of Nick's wrists, and he shouldn't feel anything at all at that, let alone something that takes root deep down in his chest and won't let go. 

"It's nice," he says finally. 

"Your mum will like it?"

Louis has no fucking idea what his mum will like or not. It's his mum, his beautiful, amazing mum, whose heart keeps expanding to let more people in, more babies, more families, more of the tiny sick children that Louis wishes he could help with more than just money. 

It never crossed his mind before Nick that there might one day be less space for him, or that there might not be space for it to expand to include the person he loved. 

"Yeah," he says finally, and his voice catches. "What's not to like?"

"Exactly," Nick says, but he doesn't make any sort of a move to climb out of the car. Inside, the curtain flicks to one side again, and the light goes on in the hall. Nick reaches for Louis's hand and covers it with his own. "Come on, love. Let's get inside."

Louis nods, and opens the door. His heart's pounding, even as he's plastering on a smile, even as he's going round to the boot to get the bags he'd had delivered to Nick's earlier so he wouldn't have to take them with him to filming. 

When he turns back around, the front door's open and his mum's there in the hall-light, waiting for him. 

It's all he can do not to drop everything he's got and run right over there for a hug, but he doesn't. He grabs as much as he can, loading himself up so that if Nick does the same, neither of them have to come back for a second trip, and doesn't look behind him as he heads inside, leaving Nick to grab the rest and finish up. 

"Darling." His mum's waiting in the hall for him, pregnant and smiling and arms wide. "I've missed you."

"Mum," he manages, trying to drop all of his stuff on the floor and not trip over it in an effort to chuck himself into his mum's arms and not fucking let go. "Missed you too." He buries his face in her neck, breathing her in. Her hair's a bit damp and she's in pyjamas and a big fluffy dressing gown. He doesn't want to let her go. Can't bear for things to be different. 

"You've grown," she says, which is a lie. 

"Haven't," he says, and he kisses her cheek, pulling her in for another hug. She's so pregnant. "You have, though."

"Babies," she says, and she smiles, stepping back. She keeps one hand to his shoulder and another to his cheek. "You look tired, love. Was it a long trip?"

"Felt like it," he says, neglecting to mention the fact he'd barely slept last night, and that he'd had to film for both Children in Need and for Jonathan Ross tonight. "Long day."

She smiles again. He's not the only one of them that looks tired. "Where's this young man of yours, then?" She doesn't stumble over _young man_ , but it doesn't sound like it trips off the tongue easily either. He's listening for the tiny differences, the ones that signal the larger ones yet to come. 

"He's here," Louis says, but he doesn't look behind him or step out of the way. The front door's still open and it's freezing outside, his mum must be well cold. Nick must still be finishing up at the car. Maybe Louis had left him too much to carry. There were all those presents for the girls. Louis steps back, leaning his head out of the door, but Nick's getting the back of the car shut, laden down with bags, his car keys in his mouth. 

Something gentle settles insides Louis's chest. Nick terrifies him - he's always fucking terrified him, even right back at the beginning when he couldn't fucking help how Nick made him feel, when Nick picked Harry over him and Louis wanted to fucking kiss him even as he'd hated him. He'd terrified Louis even as Louis had kissed him, even as they'd pushed each other around and Louis had begged for Nick to do it again, always fucking pushing because Louis needed it so fucking much and Nick could make it all go away if only he pushed hard enough. He'd terrified Louis then, and he terrifies Louis now, this stupid funny boy who loves Louis back, who holds Louis's stupid fucking heart in his hands and could ruin everything without even trying. Nick, who makes it easier for Louis to breathe. Nick, who Louis's brought home. Nick. 

"Don't help or anything," Nick says, brushing past Louis and into the hall. He deposits most of the bags on the floor around his feet, frankly ignoring Louis and leaning forward to kiss Louis's mum on the cheek. "Hello," he says. "It's lovely to meet you. I'm Nick."

"Nick," Louis's mum says. "I'm Jay. It's nice to meet you too." She pauses, glancing at Louis. "Now, come on, let's get that door closed, not let all the cold air in. Unless you've got anything else to get from the car?"

"Nope," Nick says, shaking his head. "Muggins here got the last of it." He gives Louis a ghost of a wink, leaning past him to close the front door. The keys are in the lock and he turns them. "You want the keys left in the lock?"

"On the hook," Louis's mum says, pointing just to the left of the door. "Come on through to the living room. Let's have a cup of tea."

"Thought you couldn't have tea," Louis says. He feels a bit like he does before he goes on stage, that familiar coppery taste at the back of his throat, his hands sweating. Nick's trying to gather their bags together again, and Louis half leaves him to it, just picking up his sports bag and the large bag with his mum's present in, following his mum down the hall and into the living room. "Thought it was bad for the babies."

"Decaf for me," she says, looking back at him over her shoulder as she pushes open the living room door. Her hair must still be a bit damp from her evening bath. "Come on, give your mum another hug. I've missed you so much, baby."

Louis drops his bags again, and bundles himself into another hug. She smells like bubble bath and shampoo, like the moisturiser she's been using for as long as Louis can remember, the soft familiarity of the person he loves most in the world. "I've missed you too," he tells her, wrapping her up into a hug and squeezing his eyes shut. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry I didn't tell you before."

"Don't you apologise," she says, and Louis doesn't know if she means it, but he knows Nick's standing behind them in the doorway. 

When he opens his eyes and looks over his mum's shoulder, he sees that the sofa bed's been pulled out and made up for them. There are pillows and a duvet and a blanket and there's an end table pulled up so they'll both have a bedside table. The lamps are both on. A bed, for Louis and his boyfriend. "Mum—"

"I'm sorry there isn't a bedroom for you both," she says, pulling away from the hug. She pats Louis's cheek. "In the new house there will be." She looks over Louis's shoulder. "And how are you, Nick? How was the journey up?"

Louis steps out of the way, shoving his hands in his pockets. There's still that coppery, panicky taste at the back of his mouth. The bed's there, even if he doesn't look at it. His mum knows that he's having sex with Nick. Does she think they're going to be having sex on her sofa? Well, Dan's sofa, because it's his house. Christ, what does Dan think about this? Louis bringing home a lad. "Where's Dan?" he asks, even though Nick's in the middle of saying something to his mum. 

"In bed, love. It's late."

Louis nods, then nods again. His palms are sweaty. "Right. Are we having tea then, or what?"

"If you want. Are you hungry? I could make you both a sandwich."

"I don't want to put you to any trouble," Nick says, which means he's hungry, and he definitely wants to put Louis's mum to trouble. 

"I'll do it," Louis says abruptly. 

"Louis," his mum says. It's gently reproving but Louis doesn't care. Dan will think Louis's gay, that's he brought home a lad because he doesn't want to fuck girls, that he's not one of the lads. He'll have to explain it over and over again. Talk about what he wants to do with his dick, have everyone thinking about what he does with Nick. 

"You can help," Louis says, pointing at Nick. "Sit down, Mum. What kind of tea do you want?"

"There's some decaf Yorkshire in the cupboard."

He nods, then picks up the huge Selfridges bag he'd brought in with him. "This is for you." He holds his hand out. 

She doesn't take it. "Louis."

"Take it."

"I don't need you to bring me presents."

"Well, I've brought them anyway." He puts the bag on the sofa. "You should sit down. The babies."

She looks sad. Nick's awkwardly dumped most of the bags on the living room floor, over by the fireplace. He puts his hands in his pockets. 

"Come on," Louis says, too fast. He has to walk past Nick to get to the door and he holds his hand out to urge him out. Nick half reaches for his hand but Louis pretends not to see, dropping his hand again. He's panicking. It feels wrong. It all feels wrong. 

_He_ feels wrong. 

He goes straight for the kettle in the kitchen, going over to the sink to fill it up. It's back on its stand with the switch pressed down before Nick says anything. 

"You okay?"

"Course," Louis lies. He opens the fridge. As usual, it's full of things for the twins' packed lunches. He gets out a couple of Dairylea lunchables, waving them at Nick. "These all right?"

"Yeah," Nick says, after a pause which probably means _I'd rather die_. "Should I get the cups out?"

"I'll get them," Louis says. He opens a couple of cupboards at random. This isn't his home. He didn't grow up here and he doesn't live here and there isn't a space for him. There's just a sofa bed in the living room. 

The cup cupboard has his Doncaster Rovers mug sitting front and centre, like it's been waiting for him. 

He closes the cupboard without getting any mugs out. Nick—very hesitantly—puts his hand on Louis's shoulder. 

Louis wants to weep for the hesitance alone. 

"Louis," Nick says softly. 

"Sorry," Louis says. "Sorry. I'm fucking it up."

"It's okay."

Louis shakes his head. It isn't. The kettle boils. 

Nick's hand moves until he's cupping the back of Louis's neck. "You're all right," he says, and his thumb's stroking over Louis's skin, and Lousis wants to melt into his touch, but he can't. "It'll be all right."

He nods. He wants to ask _am I okay, is it okay that I'm with you, will you tell me that I'm okay_ , but he can't. He tilts his head instead, leaning towards Nick just a tiny bit. 

Nick keeps touching him. "It's the middle of the night. You're knackered. You just need some sleep."

Louis isn't particularly sure that that's going to help, but he manages half a smile anyway. "Yeah," he says. "Cup of tea, then bed. Just knackered."

Nick's mouth curves back at him. "Cup of tea. You'll be good then."

"There are biscuits too," his mum says, from the doorway. She's watching them, Nick with his hand on the back of Louis's neck, Nick touching Louis, Louis being touched by a man. He flinches, just a little, enough that Nick can't help but notice, but neither of them pull away. Nick throws him a glance. 

"Can't go wrong with a biscuit," Nick says, and there's a proper smile this time, wide and friendly. His hand stays where it is.

Louis can't tell if Nick's smile is real or not. He can't tell if any of it is. 

"Hobnobs," his mum says, and she opens the cupboard above the microwave, coming out with a brand new packet of chocolate biscuits. She gets a plate out of another cupboard and starts to lay them out. Nick's hand is still on the back of Louis's neck, grounding him. 

The kettle clicks off, and Louis jumps away to reach for mugs and teabags. He picks the Cath Kidston mug for his mum, the Donny Rovers one for himself, and the _It's so fluffy_ one for Nick. 

"It's so fluffy?" Nick asks as Louis pours water onto their teabags. "What's that all about?"

Louis's mum laughs. " _Despicable Me_. The twins used to be obsessed with it. So far the sequel is number one on the DVD subsection of their Christmas lists."

"It's November," Louis says. 

"And you used to circulate your lists at October half term, so we'll have none of that." Louis's mum twists the top of the packet of biscuits closed and puts it back in the cupboard. "Have you seen it, Nick?"

" _Despicable Me_?" Nick shakes his head. 

"That'll be easily rectified," she says, picking up the plate of biscuits and heading for the door. "The girls love to share."

Nick waits until the door into the living room's closed again. "Do I really have to watch _Despicable Me_?" 

"Probably," Louis says. It doesn't seem real, really, his little sisters and his boyfriend Nick. Them all sharing space. He stirs the tea and starts to scoop the bags out of the cups before reaching for the milk. He finishes making the tea, then nudges the fluffy one towards Nick. "You take that and the Lunchables." 

"Just relax, all right," Nick says. "It's just your mum."

 _And you're just my gay boyfriend_ , Louis thinks, and he can't help but wonder what it might have been like at school if everyone had known that he wanted to take it up the arse from another lad. Poisonously horrible, probably. Probably much the same as if Twitter found out he liked that now. Probably just like that. "I know," he says, and he bumps the toe of his trainer into Nick's ankle. "I'm just tired."

Nick doesn't particularly look like he believes him, but it's all Louis's got, so they'll just have to go with it. 

They drink tea and eat a mixture of Lunchables and chocolate Hobnobs in the living room, with Louis sitting at one end of the sofa, his mum at the other with her presents, and Nick in the arm chair by himself. His mum opens two Marie Chantal baby gift sets, a little pink floral one for his new little sister, and a pale blue jester one for his new little brother. There's a blanket and a babygro and a little hat and shoes in each, and it's not much, but it's something. A gesture. There's also a little fluffy dressing gown set for both of them, two little pairs of fluffy bootees with bunny ears and a matching bunny-eared dressing gown. 

"I know it's early for baby presents," Louis says, "but, like, you know."

"I know," his mum says. The babies aren't due until March. She's big now because they're twins. "And they're lovely, thank you, Louis." 

"The rest are just for you," he says, and he watches as she opens three pairs of cashmere comfy socks and a spotted scarf from The White Company, and a set of Pomegranate Noir candles from Jo Malone. "Thought you could do with something nice."

She smiles at him, eyes soft. "My best boy," she says, and a part of Louis's heart just crumbles to fucking dust in his chest. He hides a weird, choking sob with a cough and a clear of his throat. 

"Thought they'd be nice in the new house."

"They will be," she says, and leans over to kiss him on the cheek. 

Louis keeps himself together by strength of fucking will alone. 

"It's late," he says. "It's really late, Mum. You should get to bed."

"So should you two," she says. "I can't promise you much of a lie-in in the morning. The girls are so excited to see you."

"You won't just let them run in and wake us up, will you?" he says, horrified at the idea of his sisters seeing him in bed with Nick, even with the two of them buttoned right on up in their pyjamas. Nick's got his new ones and Louis's got an old t-shirt and some shorts, which is much the same thing. 

"I'll try and keep them out as long as possible," she says, which is not quite what he was asking for. "Now, there are towels on the bed, but, like, unless you're desperate, try not to shower tonight? It's quite loud with the shower on up there."

"We'll just get changed in the downstairs loo," Louis says. "Don't worry."

"You need anything?" she asks, gathering up her presents. 

Louis shakes his head. She glances at Nick, who smiles and says _no_. "All sorted."

"Well then," his mum says. "Give me a kiss, love." Louis dutifully kisses her cheek, but the reality is, there's nothing dutiful about him being here. The pull to home is strong and desperate. "I've missed you so much, Lou." She smiles. It looks a little sad around the eyes, but maybe she's just tired. They're all tired. "And Nick, I hope you sleep well and you're not woken up too early by the little monsters."

"I'm used to waking up early," he says, standing up a little awkwardly. "So long as it's not earlier than during the week, it'll be fine."

"You say that now," his mum says. She's got all her presents gathered up in her arms, but she still manages to pat Nick's wrist. "You boys sleep well, now."

And then she's gone, her careful, quiet tread on the stairs, and there's just the two of them in the living room. 

Louis's shoulders sag. 

"Your mum's nice," Nick says. 

Louis nods. "Yeah," he says. "She is." He tries to smile. "You should see her when something shit goes down, though, she's like a fucking lion."

"I can see it." Nick starts to move some of the present bags out of the way of the door, to over by the fireplace. It's so, so late. Nick must feel like he's been up forever. "She's protective, isn't she? Like you."

Louis looks up at that. "What?"

"Protective," Nick says, like Louis's said something stupid. He picks up his bag and puts it down at the end of the bed. "Do you want a particular side?"

Louis blinks. _Protective_. "This one," he says, pointing at the one nearest the door. That way, when his sisters storm in at whatever o'clock in the morning, then he's the one they attack first. "You have that side."

Nick moves over to the side nearest the window, and unzips his bag. He gets out his toilet bag and his pyjamas, moving the towels Louis's mum's left him out of the way. "It's always dead weird, I think, getting undressed in the living room. Like you're breaking all the rules even though it's like, standing in for the bedroom. It's weird, innit, all those rules about space that we all kind of just understand even though they're not written down? I was reading this thing about why it's weird being in a school in the evening or in a big shop after it's closed or whatever, and they had a name for it. I can't remember, but it was like, I don't know, liminal space or something? I'll have to look it up, that might be wrong, I don't know."

Louis doesn't pick up his bag. He doesn't do anything. Nick's just rambling on, talking rubbish in the middle of the night in Louis's mum's boyfriend's living room. 

"I thought I might get it at work, you know? Because it's all so empty when I get there, like, no one's in until half way through the show, but it's always like that for me, so it doesn't feel all that weird to me? And because I had the nighttime show before that, I'm used to it not being the middle of the day, but if you get people who only work, like, nine 'til five or whatever, and they come in when I come in, they're like, freaked out—"

"I'd protect you," Louis says softly. "If I could. I know I'm not, like..." he stops. "I know you're taking a risk with me. I know you're, like, taking a risk even being here with me. And maybe you think that I wouldn't, if it came to it. But I would. If I could do something that would make you, like, safer, I would, you know."

Nick puts down his pyjamas. "Louis."

"I love you," Louis says. "And I'm going to be, like, this wall, okay? This wall between you and any shit you're going to get because of me. I promise."

Nick's shaking his head. "Lou, babe. No."

"No, I am," Louis says. He's standing his ground. Nick needs to know this, that Louis's got his back, that Nick's got a reason to stay. "You probably don't think that I will, not after everything, but I will this time. I promise."

"Oh my god."

"I'll protect you. I swear I will." It's important for Nick to get it, even though Louis's terrified. He's scared fucking stiff. He's scared fucking stiff of his own mum, of his own little sisters, of Dan and this house and the people he needs to be able to call home because he hasn't got anywhere or anyone else that mean anywhere near as much. "I mean it."

"I know you mean it," Nick says. He's still holding his toilet bag. "I know you mean it. I know you love me."

Louis nods. "Good."

"But, like..." Nick tails off, and Louis goes still. "Like, just so you know, you don't have to hide the shit stuff from me because you think you've always got to protect me. We don't—" He stops again. He looks lost for words. Louis doesn't know what to do with that. "I love you," he says finally, and Louis wasn't expecting that. "I know this is hard and I know it's not been easy, but like, your mum protects you, right? And you, like, protect her back. I want it to be like that but with you and me. I can help you back, you know, if you tell me what you're thinking sometimes. If you let me in." He swallows. He looks tired and sad. "Maybe I can protect you back sometimes. Maybe I'd like that."

"I don't—"

"Everyone does," Nick says. "Everyone needs that sometimes. I want to do it for you."

"I can do it by myself." Louis feels oddly on the edge of tears, sort of twisted up and upside down. Christ, he's tired. 

"I know," Nick says. "I'm not saying you can't. I'm just saying... I don't know. I want to be that wall for you too sometimes. Give you a break."

God, the idea of there being something—someone—standing between him and everything he's scared of, fuck. It's shit how much he wants it, but he can't. He's stronger than that. He nods instead. "Do you want me to show you where the downstairs loo is?"

Nick sighs. "Yes," he says, coming around the end of the bed and brushing his fingertips over the back of Louis's hand. "Please."

Louis shows him down the hall and then goes back into the living room, opening his bag and getting out his t-shirt and the pair of shorts he'd thrown in at the last minute to sleep in. The heating's off because it's the middle of the night and it's cold now that he's got his jumper off and is pulling off his jeans. He could do with washing his face to get the rest of the stage make up off from earlier, and going for a last piss before bed, but he doesn't do either. He climbs into bed, lying face down and star fishing under the sheets a little to make the space his own. He wraps his arms around the pillow and breathes in the familiar smell of his mum's washing powder and fabric softener. 

He's home, but it's not his home at all. 

Nick's another few minutes before he comes back, toilet bag in hand, brand new pyjamas on, clothes over his arm. He turns the big light off and moves a few of the bags a bit further out of the way so that there's a clear path to the door. He lays his clothes out over his bag, toilet bag on top, then sits down on the edge of the bed and reaches over so that he can rest his hand in the small of Louis's back. 

"Thanks," he says softly. "I didn't say it before. For protecting me."

Louis lifts his head off the pillow. He's tired. "I will, you know."

"I know," Nick says. He strokes his hand over Louis's back through the duvet and the blanket. "You don't want to use the bathroom before bed?"

"Can't be arsed," Louis says. 

Nick's smile is crooked. "That's my boy."

 _My boy_. "Them your new mum-impressing pyjamas, then?"

Nick's pyjamas are red checked with wine-coloured satin piping. They probably cost a fortune. "They are. You reckon she's going to be impressed?"

"Dunno," Louis says. "But I am. That you're trying."

Nick leans in and kisses Louis's cheek. Louis's half thrilled, half terrified that he's kissing a lad in his mum's house. He blushes instead, and buries his face in the pillow. 

"Get into bed."

"Aye, aye," Nick says, and he turns the lamp off before climbing under the covers, tucking his cold feet between Louis's. The room's in darkness.

"No cuddling," Louis says. "My sisters might walk in." 

Nick leans in and touches his nose to Louis's. "You all right?"

"Course," Louis lies, pulling back. He relents, shifting a little so that his cheek rests against Nick's shoulder. "Hate sleeping in unfamiliar places."

Nick doesn't pull him up on the fact that this is his mum's house. He slips an arm around Louis's shoulder instead. "Always think you should be dead good at it. All that practice."

"Dun't mean I like it," Louis says. He snuggles down under the covers again, and mostly out from under Nick's arm. "Like you, though."

Nick doesn't say anything for a while. "That's good," he says finally. "Cos I like you right back."

Louis had imagined it was going to take him ages to go to sleep, but he's mostly there already. "Yeah," he manages softly, but he's dead to the world before he's heard Nick say anything back. 

~*~

Louis is woken up by the sound of muffled giggling and too-loud whispers, and normally Louis might be a heavy sleeper, but there's a sudden, desperate realisation that those are his _sisters_ making that noise, and he's in bed with a man. He goes still, heart pounding. 

Next to him, Nick groans a little, and Louis leans over him quickly, hand to his shoulder. "Shhh," he says softly, throwing a panicked glance towards the living room door, and the three peeping faces of his youngest sisters around the door. "Go back to sleep."

"Lou?"

Louis shakes his head. "Go back to sleep," he says again, pulling the duvet up and over Nick's shoulders. "It's early." Nick makes a soft, half-asleep kind of a noise and Louis wants to pull the blankets over their heads and hide from the whole fucking world, but he can't. All he can do is delay the inevitable for just that little bit longer, and head the girls off at the pass. He rolls out of bed and shoos his sisters out of the doorway, finger to his lips. He holds them off with one hand until he's got the door closed behind him and is out into the hall, and then he's got an armful of Fizzy and the twins and his heart thumps heavy in his chest. 

He ends up herding them into the kitchen, sweat pooling in the small of his back at the idea of waking Nick up and having him coming out to meet his little sisters before Louis is properly prepared for it. Will he ever be? Just a little longer. Just a cup of tea and a breathing space first. 

"Was that your boyfriend?" one of the twins asks, and Louis has to try and untangle himself from his mess of little sisters and tilt her chin up for a moment before he knows for certain which one it is. Daisy. "Was it?"

He glances at the clock. Barely half past seven. Way too early for a Saturday. 

"Was it?" Phoebe insists. Fizzy has hidden herself underneath his arm, even though she's probably taller than him, or at least around the same height. Daisy's wrapped around his waist. 

"You guys are way too energetic," he says, because it feels like there's a block in his throat and he has no fucking clue how to say the words _Nick's my boyfriend_ to his little sisters. He might not have it in him, to articulate the change that's already happened. Their big brother, the one who likes dick. How is he supposed to explain that it's just Nick? That it's girls too?

Girls don't make him feel like Nick does. 

"We should play football," he goes on, even though the girls are all in fluffy dressing gowns and stripy pyjamas and he's in shorts and a t-shirt and it's fucking freezing. 

"It's November," Fizzy tells him. 

"And how many times do you get to play pyjama footie with your big brother, eh?" He plasters on a grin. "Go on, get your wellies."

"In our pyjamas?" Daisy looks puzzled, but Phoebe already looks excited. 

"Coats and wellies on over the top," he says, "go on. Get your coats on. We'll have to be quiet so we don't wake anyone up. Where are you lot hiding the football around here?"

"I hate football," Fizzy says, but she's lying. She's already laughing, already half out of the kitchen and into the hall to find her coat. 

"Quietly," Louis says, even though he's never been quiet in his life. He slips back into the living room and grabs the hoodie he'd left on the floor by the bed the previous night, and doesn't bother trying to find socks in his bag for fear of waking Nick back up. He needs his sleep. 

Fizzy's waiting out in the hall when he comes back out. He can hear the twins out the other side of the kitchen, in the back porch. She's got a big puffa jacket in one hand and her school coat in the other. She holds out the puffa jacket for Louis. "Is he really your boyfriend?" 

"Fizz—"

"It's all right if it is," she says, and she sounds far older than she should. "It doesn't make any difference."

"Did Mum tell you to say that?" He tries for a smile but it doesn't quite work. 

She shakes her head quickly. She looks worried. 

"It's okay," he says, and he reaches for her, pulling her into a sideways hug. "Don't worry, Fizz. Nothing's going to change, I promise."

"It's okay," she echoes, but maybe it won't be, and he has no fucking clue what to do about that, or how to protect any of them from the fall out. 

~*~

They stumble back inside forty minutes later, cold and flushed and laughing, Louis with Phoebe on his back and Fizzy and Daisy still tapping the ball around Louis's feet. In the kitchen, his mum's leaning up against the counter with a cup of tea in hand, and Nick's standing opposite her, holding his own mug. 

"Pyjama football?" his mum says, after Phoebe's jumped down and tucked herself into their mum's side and breathlessly explained what they were doing outside. 

"Good to get exercise," Louis says, trying not to look at Nick. He's still taking his wellies off - or Dan's wellies, he presumes, given that he probably doesn't have a pair here and he took the first pair it looked like he might fit into. Fizzy's behind him, Daisy pushing, and he lets them pass, stepping back so that he can try and get the wellies off. He's barefoot in them, and he's freezing. He'd gone out in shorts and wellies in November. 

"Where are your socks?" his mum asks as he steps inside. His sisters are staring with undisguised interest in Nick. 

"Mum," Louis complains. "You can't tell me what to wear anymore."

"I can tell you to wear socks if you're outside in the freezing cold playing football," she says, rolling her eyes. "Does he ignore you like this too, Nick?"

"All the time," Nick says, and his smile is easy but his eyes look a little worried as he glances at Louis. "Aren't you cold?"

 _Freezing_ , Louis thinks. He wants to chuck himself across the kitchen and into Nick's arms, wants to hide his face in Nick's neck and let Nick warm him up. "Nah," he lies. "I'm fine." He shrugs a shoulder in Nick's general direction. "This is Nick, by the way. Nick, Fizzy—"

"Félicité," Fizzy interrupts. 

"Félicité," Louis agrees, "And these two monsters are Daisy and Phoebe. Tell Nick how to tell the two of you apart while I nip for a whizz, all right?"

He takes the stairs two at a time, feet red from the cold, and barricades himself in the bathroom so he can lean over the sink and think, _what the fucking fuck_. 

By the time he comes back downstairs, everyone's moved out of the kitchen and into the living room. Nick's moved his suitcase to over by the window, and he's folding up the bedding with Daisy and Phoebe's help so that they can put the bed away. Louis's stuff is still all over the floor, but his mum's sitting down on the other sofa. She mustn't be feeling all that well if she's letting Daisy and Phoebe put the bed away without trying to help. He goes over to kiss her on the temple. "You not feeling that great?"

"It's fine," she says, and she smiles at him, patting his hand. "Lottie still not awake, then?"

"Doesn't look like it," he says, kneeling down to find a pair of socks somewhere in his bag. He sits at the other end of the sofa to put them on, even as Daisy and Phoebe are giggling at something Nick's saying. His heart sort of stumbles a little at the sight of them, of Nick in his family-impressing new pyjamas, trying to figure out how to tell Louis's twin sisters apart, tidying up their bed so that they all have space to sit down. Nick, who's _here_ , who's come with him for a family weekend even though Louis is so fucking fucked up right now it must be obvious from space. "Is Dan still in bed?" 

"Getting ready for work," she says. "He's got a meeting with a client this morning he couldn't rearrange. He's going to try and be back after lunch, though. Spend some time with us all."

He smiles at that, and hopes it doesn't falter. 

"Tea's up," Fizzy says, bringing in a tray. Louis has to help clear the coffee table so she can put it down. The sofa bed's half-away and Louis sits back down quickly on the sofa with his mum so he doesn't have to awkwardly share with Nick and figure out how to touch him in front of his family. "I'm going to take one up to Lottie, tell her to come down."

Louis nods. "Do that," he says. "Or better than that, I'll go wake her up."

"Fizzy can go," his mum says. "She's already standing up."

Nick's holding the bedding all folded up, the duvet and the sheets and the pillows all squished up into one big pile. "Where do you want this?"

"It goes upstairs," Louis's mum says. "Don't worry, I'll take it up in a bit."

"You will not," Louis says, at the same time as Nick protests too. "We'll take it up."

"Pop it on one of the twins' beds," his mum says after a moment. "We can move it into my bedroom once Dan's finished getting ready. Louis, you show Nick where he's going. Wake Lottie up while you're up there, will you? Save Fizz a trip."

"Don't put it on my bed," Daisy calls after them. 

"Or mine," Phoebe yells. 

"Shush," his mum says. "It won't stay on either of your beds, it's going to go on mine in just a few minutes, so stop your complaining. Louis's boyfriend will think that all the two of you do is moan."

Louis's already part way up the stairs, pillows in hand, and he can't stop because Nick's behind him with the pile of blankets. _Louis's boyfriend_. Christ. He takes the remaining stairs two at a time and barges his way into the twins' bedroom, brandishing an arm in the general direction of the beds. "Bung the stuff anywhere," he says, dropping the pillows onto one of the beds. He can hear the shower going in his mum and Dan's en-suite. "I should go and wake Lottie up—"

Nick puts the folded up duvet and sheets down on top of the pillows. "Wait," he says, holding his hand out. "Wait, Louis."

Louis's shoulders slump. He lets Nick reach for him, but once Nick's fingertips touch his shoulder, he stumbles awkwardly into a hug, burying his face in Nick's neck. 

"You're freezing," Nick says.

"Am not," Louis lies. He rubs his cold nose over Nick's skin. He smells warm and familiar. 

"Okay," Nick says. "You're not." He still pats Louis's back. "Did you have a good time with your sisters?"

"Yeah," Louis says, after a beat. He licks Nick's neck before slipping his arms around Nick's waist. "Miss them, don't I?"

"Course. Does it get easier to tell the twins apart?"

"Yeah. Unless they're dressing the same to fuck you up."

Nick huffs a laugh. He slides his fingers into Louis's hair, stroking. Louis lets out a ragged breath. 

"I'm fucking it up, aren't I?"

"Nah," Nick says. "Just a bit different, innit? Bringing me home."

"Keep thinking you're going to dump me if I don't get my shit together."

Nick shakes his head. "Nah," he says. "Not right now."

It's nice, Nick's hand in his hair. Reassuring. Louis closes his eyes, just for a breath. "I'll do better," he says, without opening them again. "I'll figure this shit out." He's got no fucking idea how to touch Nick where people can see. He just doesn't know how to fucking do it. 

"I know this is a big deal. Bringing me here."

Louis pulls back a bit, enough that he can press his mouth to the corner of Nick's. 

Nick's mouth curves into a smile, and Louis sneaks another kiss. His heart flutters, then settles. It's easier with Nick's hands on him, reminding him to breathe. 

"Thought Mum's rule was no boyfriends upstairs."

Louis whirls around. Lottie's in the doorway, almost swallowed whole by a purple fluffy dressing gown that's pretty much the same size as she is. 

"Lots—"

She smiles at him sleepily. "Don't I get a hug?"

He wraps her up in a hug, face burning. "I didn't—" He doesn't know what to say. _I didn't mean for you to see that_ is what he wants to say, but the words won't come out. 

"Missed you," he manages. "Missed you loads."

"Missed you more," Lottie says. There's something a little quizzical in her gaze, and he suspects it's the silent, _since when were you gay?_ expression that most of his friends have been wearing recently. "And that's Grimmy, right? From the radio."

Nick waves a hand in her general direction. "Guilty," he says. "And you're Lottie."

"Yep," she says, then turns her attention back to Louis. "Does Mum know you've got your boyfriend upstairs? She never lets Martin upstairs."

Louis rolls his eyes. "She knows," he says, then doesn't know what else he's supposed to say. "You all right?" he asks finally. The shower's gone off in the en-suite next door. 

"Yeah," she says, tucking herself into Louis's side. He can't see the way she's looking at Nick, but he knows she's looking. "You?"

"Yeah," Louis echoes, because if he tried to untangle the knot of different feelings in his chest, he'd be here all year. "We should go down. You missed pyjama football."

"I missed it too," Nick says. "This one here let me sleep through it."

"Did he now," Lottie says. 

"He wakes up early all week," Louis says. "Thought I might try and give him one little bit of a lie-in."

"And very grateful I was too," Nick says, and then he leans in and kisses Louis's forehead, like Lottie isn't just standing there and it's okay to just touch him like it's allowed. Louis knows it should be, he's not an idiot, but it's _not_. "Tea'll be getting cold."

Everything's so loud and mixed up and confusing in Louis's head, and he wishes it was quieter, just for a moment. He wishes it would all just fucking shut up. "Yeah," he says, over the noise in his head and the ice in his chest. "Tea."

They spend the rest of the morning in their pyjamas in the living room, _Despicable Me_ on the telly, Nick on one sofa and Louis on a different one, Lottie on one side of him and his mum on the other. He rests his cheek against his mum's shoulder and watches as the twins take Nick over like their own personal plaything. Daisy's got her toes under Nick's thighs already, Phoebe wedged in between him and the edge of the sofa, the two of them challenging him to thumb war after thumb war, and bossing him around. 

"We could stop them," his mum says, in a low voice. 

"Nah," Louis says, as Daisy challenges Nick to name his top three One Direction songs, and Phoebe tells him he's not getting any lunch until he can name all three of the sisters in _Despicable Me_. "He can hold his own." 

Fizzy, on her phone at the other end of the sofa, looks up at him then, and smiles. 

It's not quiet in his head - it's never quiet in his head - but for a moment, it feels like he can breathe. 

~*~

It all goes to shit after lunch when it turns out Mark's coming over for dinner. 

"That's your dad, right?" Nick asks, following when Louis suddenly disappears into the kitchen to put the kettle on. 

Louis makes a face. "Sort of. Stepdad, really. But, yeah, my dad."

Nick nods. He pauses, taps his fingers on the counter. "You don't seem very happy about it."

Louis shrugs. They've drunk so much tea today that they might all be drowning in it, but Louis is at home, so the kettle always needs to be warm. He'll manage another cup even though he's jittery. His hands tremble. "It's fine."

Nick takes a step closer, but something must show on Louis's face because he stops, shifting a little so that he's leaning his hip against the counter. "Does he know? About us?"

"Suppose," Louis says. He hasn't told him, but he suspects his mum has. The men in his life didn't get the same text his mum did. He hasn't told Mark, hasn't told Dan, hasn't told Troy. He doesn't tell Troy anything, because Troy's a fucking waste of time and space, but that's not the point. Stan and Oli remain the only ones of his friends who know he's sleeping with a man. Anyone outside of his mum and Stan and Oli know because they can't keep their fucking mouths shut, can't keep his secrets secret. A quieter voice inside of him whispers that maybe it's not something they consider as terrifying as Louis does. He shoves that down into a corner. He doesn't know how to stop being scared. He wishes he did. He wishes he was braver. 

"And?" Nick says quietly. "You don't think he'll be okay with it?"

Louis doesn't know. He doesn't fucking know. His chest thrums with it, this vibration settling deep inside of him, the buzz of a hundred tiny arguments that all end with _stop this right now_. He drums his fingers against his leg. "Dunno."

Nick doesn't say anything for a moment. "Not sure your mum'd let him sit down if he wasn't okay with you. Not like I've known her all that long, but still. Seems like she'd go to bat for you."

"She would," Louis says. "Wish she didn't have to, though."

Nick reaches for him carefully, circling his fingers around Louis's wrist. "You okay?"

Louis's hand twitches. The kettle's boiling noisily. They're the only ones in the kitchen. "Wish you could push me around," he says, so quiet that Nick has to lean in to hear it. 

Nick straightens up. "You feel like you need it?"

He nods. It's jerky. "It makes it quiet," he says softly. "I just want it to be quiet."

Nick leans in and kisses Louis's temple. It's brief. "I know," he says. "I know you do."

~*~

They're roped in to help with dinner later on, a full Sunday roast that they're having a day early because they have to get off early afternoon tomorrow. Louis's singing on the X Factor results show, and it's live so there isn't an option for him to be late and blame Sunday afternoon M25 traffic. He'll be late for rehearsal - he's always late, and they must all be used to it by now - but he won't be late for the show. 

"What can I do?" Nick asks, trailing Louis into the kitchen. 

"You can go and sit on the sofa and relax," Louis's mum says. "Guests don't have to peel carrots."

"If he does that, Mum, Daisy and Phoebs are going to use him as a flipping Girls World. I saw them sneaking upstairs for the eye shadow."

"It's an initiation ceremony," his mum says, but then relents. "All right, all right. Potatoes need peeling." She puts the CD player on the windowsill on, waiting until the CD stops spinning to press play. It's an old Smiths mix CD, and he can't help but hum along as he reaches for the potato peeler, handing a second one to Nick so they can both hover over the chopping board. He's slow with the peeler, stop-start, little strips of potato skin falling down onto the counter. He sings along with _the boy with the thorn in his side,_ his mum joining in. Nick's just grinning. 

"Shut up," he says, elbowing Nick in the side. 

"Manc tradition, the Smiths," Nick says. 

"I loved them when I was Fizzy's age," his mum says. "Thought the sun shone out of Morrissey's arse."

"Mum."

"I know, I know. Still true though."

Louis hums. It's nice. Nick's peeling potatoes, Louis's mostly peeling himself. There's a huge chicken in the oven, and piles of potatoes and veg ready to get on the go. His mum's pottering around, co-ordinating it all. 

Even this doesn't quiet the pull in his chest, the ache he has to make it all stop, just for a minute. Give him a chance to put the tangle in his head to one side, even for a bit. He bumps his elbow into Nick's, jolting him away from the potatoes. 

Nick's face curves into a grin. "Cheeky," he says, but he sings along to _there's a light that never goes out_ with the two of them, out of tune and making up half of the words. 

There's not much to be done once everything's peeled and ready to be cooked. There's the table to be set, but his mum won't let them do that. "The girls can do that. The twins like making everyone name places."

Louis doesn't ask when Mark's arriving. It's a little slither of fear that's wedged itself inside his chest. A splinter. "Anything else you need?" he asks. 

"Don't think so. Oh, wait. I promised Daisy we'd have peas. There should be some more in the freezer."

Louis eyes the freezer in the corner of the kitchen a little dubiously. It's tiny, and mostly contains ice blocks and Fab lollies. Louis's already checked. And had a Fab lolly.

"Not that freezer. The one from the old house. It's in the garage."

"You need them now?" The potatoes have only just gone on. Louis might not be the world's greatest cook but he's pretty sure frozen peas don't need the same amount of time as boiled potatoes. 

"Not just yet. There are a couple of boxes of your stuff that were at your grandad's," she says. "No problem keeping them here, but see if you still want them, will you? They're in the garage too. Then bring the peas in."

"All right." Louis rolls his eyes.

"Take Nick. Protect him from the girls. Show him all those old football medals you won."

"I don't need protection," Nick says, which clearly means he hasn't spent enough time in the company of Louis's sisters, because they're dangerous when armed with their stupid make up collection and a willing victim. There's a little voice inside of him that sometimes whispers that maybe he wouldn't want to be with Nick now if he'd resisted their attempts to use him as a model for their stupid make up sets when he was younger.

He can tell himself to shut up over and over again, but it doesn't make the voice go away. 

"But I do obviously want to see every medal you've ever won," Nick goes on. "You know I love your name in lights."

"Come on," Louis rolls his eyes, reaching for Nick's hand before he can stop himself. He veers away at the last, fingers circling Nick's wrist, but Nick grins anyway, and lets himself be led out of the kitchen even as he's putting the towel down on the counter. 

Louis doesn't look back to see his mum's face. 

The door out to the garage is in the hall, and once they're both through the door, he flips the bolt on the garage side, locking them in. His shoulders sag. 

"You okay?" Nick asks. The garage has a lot of bikes in it, most of them some sort of shade of pink. There's so many bikes and piles of boxes from the old house that there's no room for cars, which makes it less likely they're going to be disturbed, and slightly more likely that Louis's not going to find the boxes that will have his name on the side. The freezer is over the other side, next to a dolls house that had started off being Lottie's and probably still belonged to the twins. He had no idea when girls stopped playing with dolls, but his little sisters are possessive. 

"Course," Louis says, nodding. His fingers flex. He just wants—he wants _something_ , but he doesn't know what. "Will you just..." he stops. "Can you just make it be quiet for a bit?"

Nick lets out a breath. "I can try. What do you need?"

"You," Louis says. "Just, I don't know. Hold me up against the wall or something?"

Nick nods. "Come here, then."

Louis obeys. His chest feels tight, all sort of twisted up. He steps up into Nick's space, and Nick tilts his chin up with the crook of his finger. 

"You're doing good," Nick says. 

Louis shakes his head, trying to look away. It doesn't feel like that and he knows he's not. He's fucking it all up. "I'm not."

Nick crooks his finger again, forcing Louis to meet his gaze. "It's all good," he says. "Your sisters are great. Your mum's great. The twins want to put me in make up. I can name all the sisters in _Despicable Me_."

"Nick—"

"All right, love, shush." Nick touches his hand to the middle of Louis's chest. "Back you go. Don't look. I've got you."

Louis keeps his gaze fixed on Nick, walking backwards and not stopping until he bumps, back-first, into the wall. The brickwork is rough against his back, little bits of it sharp even through his hoodie. He swallows. 

"Hands above your head," Nick says, and Louis's quick to obey, wrists crossing. Nick reaches for him then, covering Louis's wrists with his own hand. He presses him back against the wall. His other hand he presses to the centre of Louis's chest, where Louis feels like all his breath is trapped. His mouth's dry. His heart pounds. They could so easily get caught, and by his family, and the shame of it settles deep down in his chest. Nick brackets him back against the wall, Louis slotting in between his thighs. He's trapped back against the wall and it doesn't fix anything, it doesn't make the fear go away, but just for a moment, he breathes a little easier. "You okay? This helping?"

Louis drops his chin. He nods. 

"When we get back to London," Nick says, "me and you, we'll do something like this. Whatever you're thinking about."

Louis presses forward a little, against Nick's hands. His forehead touches Nick's cheek. "In the car on the way up," he says, refusing to look up. Nick's hand is a pressure against his wrists. The brick wall digs in. "I thought about not going to the loo when we stopped."

Nick waits a beat too long before replying. "Even though you needed it?"

"Even though I was desperate."

"What would you have done instead?" Nick's hand on his chest shifts a little. He's moved a little closer, altering position just enough that he can touch his mouth to Louis's temple. 

"Wet myself," Louis says, and there is no fucking way on this planet that he's going to meet Nick's gaze now.

"Hot," Nick says finally. He kisses Louis's warm, flushed cheek. "You want to do that when we're home? When you're back from America?"

Louis has no fucking idea where _home_ is, but it still makes him breathless. "You want to?"

Nick cups Louis's face in his hand. His other hand stays where it is, pinning Louis's wrists to the wall. "Yeah," he says, and he leans in to kiss him then, covering Louis's mouth with his own, and just for a minute, Louis gives in to it and kisses back. Just for a minute, Louis stops worrying about his mum and his sisters and his sort-of dad and his sort-of step dad, and kisses him back. 

Afterwards, Nick tugs him into a hug and asks if he's okay. 

"Mostly," Louis says, and it's hardly even a lie. _Home_ , he thinks. Home. 

~*~

Having to go back to London on Sunday is the fucking worst. 

He'd slept badly, Nick snoring gently into his shoulder and Louis not wanting to move in case it woke him up. Nick needs his sleep. He always had to get up so early. Louis hadn't even wanted to fuck around on his phone in case the light woke Nick up, but he'd capitulated somewhere around four in the morning. He'd ended up in Nick's Twitter mentions, just because, and even in the middle of the night it was full of homophobic shit. 

One day all of that would be his, too. 

"Aren't you going to pack?" Nick asks, coming down from his shower with damp hair and back in his stripy jumper from Friday night. His jeans have basically no knees in them and Louis has to force himself not to reach out and stick his fingers inside the holes just so he can touch. 

Louis's still in his pyjamas, Lottie with her cheek pillowed on his shoulder. The telly's on. His mum's in the kitchen with Dan, making lunch. 

He's not sure exactly how much Dan tends to participate in the making of Sunday lunch, but other than popping his head around the door a bit earlier to see if anyone wanted more tea, he's spent most of the morning in the kitchen. It's fine. 

"Nope," Louis says, because he doesn't want to go. His feet are cold but he's comfy and Lottie's a reassuring weight against his side. Nick pushes up his sleeves, one then the other, then the first again. His wrists are surprisingly delicate for someone who can hold Louis up against the wall. It's partly why this is one of Louis's favourite jumpers on Nick. 

Nick rolls his eyes. "Room for a little one?" he asks, pointing at the space on the sofa next to him. 

Louis wants to say _no_ just because he's got no idea how to cope with Nick sitting beside him and all of his sisters here watching. 

"Course," Lottie says, budging up and making Louis move with her so that she can curl up against his side again. 

Nick settles down between Louis and the arm of the sofa. He's sort of angled at forty-five degrees so that his feet are near Louis's, but he's sitting with his back in the corner of the sofa. He reaches for his phone. "You are going to pack at some point, right?"

"At some point," Louis says. He'll shove his stuff into a bag ten minutes before he really has to leave, just like every time. He's shit at packing. His approach is mostly to just shove it in a bag and buy whatever he'd forgotten later. He's got ten million sets of headphones. Niall has one set, but that's because Niall's magic where Louis's a mess. 

"He'll be packing as you're sitting in the car," Lottie says. 

"Our family trait," Louis says. He can't help it. He reaches over and tucks the tip of his finger into one of the holes in the knee of Nick's jeans. 

Nick catches his eye for a moment, eyes all crinkly and bright. He diverts his attention back down to his phone, for which Louis remains grateful. He keeps his hand where it is. 

"Dan's making lasagne," Daisy says, hopping back into the living room with half a glass of orange squash precariously hopping along with her in one hand. 

"Takes ages, lasagne, doesn't it?" Nick asks. "If you make it from scratch."

Louis shrugs. It's the kind of recipe you might pick if you wanted to hole up in the kitchen all morning and not talk to anyone in the living room. 

"And he's making garlic bread," Daisy goes on. "Lottie, will you plait my hair?"

"Sure," Lottie says, and Daisy darts off to get hairbrushes and bobbles and anything else that might be required for a Lottie Tomlinson haircare extravaganza. 

"You'll do mine after?" Phoebe asks, already on her feet and ready to dash off after Daisy. 

Lottie nods. She uncurls herself off the sofa, stretching out before she nips to the loo. 

Louis stays right where he was, with his finger tucked into Nick's jeans. 

"You all right?" Nick asks softly. 

Louis just nods. He is, to an extent. 

"You love a bit of lasagne, don't you?"

"Yeah," Louis says. 

"Nice of Dan to make it for you, then." Nick's watching him, eyes searching. Louis has no fucking clue what he's supposed to give back. 

"Suppose," Louis says. There's only Fizzy left in the room for a minute, and she's mostly on her phone, the telly on in the background. "Could have just made it from a jar."

Nick looks at him. He'd been there last night, sitting next to Louis at an awkward family dinner where Mark called him _son_ , but looked somewhere slightly to the left of Louis's head. Where the questions had been about the promo work Louis's doing in LA and New York next week, about Christmas and 1D Day and the girls chattering on about school and mates and this girl in Lottie's class whose boyfriend was taking her to Leeds to go shopping. Louis loves his family, he fucking loves his family more than anything in the world, but sometimes it's hard to know that the world keeps on turning without him being here. That Dan and Mark have a perfectly cordial relationship built around picking the girls up and dropping them off and having the occasional family dinner for the sake of family unity. That Mark has a new girlfriend that Louis hasn't even met, that the world keeps on fucking spinning and Louis has a _boyfriend,_ he has Nick, and he can't tell what the fuck's going on with anybody and he has no idea how he fits in anymore. 

Mark had shaken Nick's hand and been perfectly polite at the same time as completely ignoring the fact that they're a couple, and Louis has no fucking idea whether that's because he's not been making a big deal of it, or because it _is_ a big deal. He and Dan normally have a beer and a chat but they haven't this time, and maybe it's because Nick being here is weird, or maybe it's because the weekend itself has been concertinaed down into just a few hours and because Louis's spent the whole fucking time feeling like he's been wound up too tight. He's scared, he's so fucking scared he can't see straight, and he can't help but think back to that time in Australia, that terrible night when Harry had found out and Louis had thrown up in a bin and literally, desperately, terrifyingly, forgotten how to breathe. 

Nick smiles at him. "Cheer up, chuck. It might never happen."

Louis tries to smile back, tries to cover up some of his nerves with boringly practiced ease, but it must wobble a little. "Just tired," he says. "Busy couple of weeks coming up too."

Nick makes a face. "Sooner you go," he says. "Sooner you can come back. We've got plans, right?"

Louis glances towards Fizzy, but she's concentrating on the game she's playing on her phone. "Yeah?" he says, which he hopes is code for _the wetting kind of plans_ but he doesn't have any way of telegraphing that without actually saying it. 

"Yeah," Nick says. There's a pause. "You are okay, right?"

"Course I am." He plasters on a smile. "Come on, Fizz, what're you playing that you can't show me and let me beat you?"

She rolls her eyes. "You won't beat me," she says. 

"But I can try, right?" 

Daisy and Phoebe are thundering down the stairs in unison, and the flush goes in the downstairs loo. In the kitchen, his mum and Dan are singing along to the radio. Nick's watching him. There are snakes in Louis's chest, and they're the venomous kind, twisting and squeezing and just waiting to snap. 

He looks away. 

"Here you go," Fizzy says, handing over her phone. "But if you beat my high score, I'm sacking you as my brother."

"Fair enough," Louis says, and he doesn't look at Nick at all. 

~*~

His mum hugs him close as Nick puts their stuff in the car. The twins are threatening to climb in the boot and stowaway like Paddington, but Louis ignores them in favour of tucking himself into his mum's side and breathing her in. 

"Is it all right?" he says finally, when there's just the two of them in the hall and everyone else outside. "That I brought him here?"

"Oh, my—Louis."

"I can still come back, right? It doesn't change anything?" He hides his face in her neck. Her hair tickles his nose. 

She pulls away then, cupping his face in her hands. Her eyes are wet. "My lovely, best boy," she says. "My lovely, lovely boy. You spend so long thinking about everyone else. This is your home. With us. It'll always be your home, however far away you are. However far away we are. These people, they're your family. And you're ours. No matter who you bring home. No matter how many boys."

"Just Nick," he says. "It's just Nick."

"He loves you, you know."

"I know." Louis does know. He doesn't deserve it, but it doesn't stop him wanting it or needing it. He wipes his nose on his sleeve. "I love him, Mum. I love him so much."

Her eyes are still wet. "You think I don't know that? I always know."

She hadn't known, though. Not before. This secret he's desperately tried to bury for so long. "You think Dad's all right with it?"

She smiles a little ruefully. "Mark'll be fine, love. He's doing his best."

"And Dan?"

"He's fine too." 

Louis isn't so sure about that, plates full of lasagne and garlic bread aside. There's a wedge there that wasn't there before, a wall right there in-between them. He can't tell which of them is building it, or if it's down to both of them. "I love you, Mum."

"I love you more, love."

Louis pulls away, wiping his nose on his sleeve again. He can't cry now, not properly. Not in front of his sisters. Not in front of Nick, either. Later. He'll feel this later, when he's alone. 

When he turns around, Nick's in the doorway, car keys in hand. "We're all packed up," he says, and he doesn't comment on either of them being a bit tearful. "Your sisters are waiting outside for you. Think they've planned some kind of epic group hug."

"Just coming," Louis says. He pulls his sleeves down. 

Nick holds out his hand. "Come on. If we don't go now, we won't have time to stop for McDonalds before we hit the M25."

His mum kisses his cheek. "That's an offer you can't refuse, love. Off you go."

Louis bundles her into another hug. "Love you," he says, and then he's peeling away, shoving his hand into Nick's and holding on for dear life, squeezing hard so that he doesn't cry his fucking eyes out. 

"Thanks for having us," Nick says. "It's been really nice."

"Any time," Louis's mum says, and Louis tugs on Nick's hand. 

"Come on," he says, because he's going to cry. He's going to fucking tear himself apart in front of the people he loves the most, and he can't. He can't show them what's on the inside, all those broken bits he keeps shoving down deeper so that no one ever has to know they're there. He _can't_.

"All that time yelling at him to pack, and now he's the one pulling me out the door," Nick says, and he leans in to kiss Louis's mum's cheek, quick and smiling. 

"That's my boy," his mum says, and Louis can't bear it any longer. They have to go. 

"Love you," Louis calls over his shoulder, before going outside and losing himself in a stupid, ridiculous hug with his sisters. "Love you all."

~*~

It's only hours later, when he's at home in his flat by himself, his X Factor performance behind him, that he sits down on the floor in his hallway with his phone in his hand. 

_Saw you on the telly_ , Nick's message says. _Some good looking blokes in your band. Will you put in a good word for me with Niall?_

 _Fuck off_ , Louis types back. Jealousy spikes outwards from his chest like a puffer fish. _You're mine_. 

There's a pause before the three little dots show up to show Nick's responding. _Yep_ , his message says finally. _I am_. 

Nick breaks his fucking heart. _Shut up_ , he types back. 

_Thanks for a good weekend by the way. Your family's well nice. They're properly proud of you and everything._

Louis doesn't mean to cry, doesn't mean to let go and give in to the tightness in his chest, but he can't help it. He's so, so tired of being this scared. 

He cries his fucking eyes out, and doesn't text Nick back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [tumblr](http://magicalrocketships.tumblr.com/post/163872354288/than-a-man-swear-he-loves-me-chapter-7).

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr](http://magicalrocketships.tumblr.com/tagged/i%20had%20rather).


End file.
